Bad Blood
by royalstandard
Summary: 17th century France: Intent on acquiring more power in Europe in order to protect themselves from their murderous father, the Originals ingratiate themselves with French nobility. While Klaus focuses his attention on the French queen herself, Rebekah becomes enamored with one of the royal Musketeers. Meanwhile, Elijah arranges a marriage, a pleasant idea that may backfire on him.
1. Chapter 1

_(After reading the excerpt of "The Rise", the first book in the Originals' book series, and being woefully disappointed, I felt the need to somehow repair what had been wronged. Or at least to repair my wounded heart after reading that travesty._

_Note: this fic is not intended to be historically accurate and is purely a work of fiction. Just go with it.)_

* * *

><p>"I'm bored. I want to leave."<p>

"Do pretend to be interested in the event, Niklaus," Elijah genteelly ordered him, straightening his dress coat and drawing himself up to his full height. His brown eyes cut across the crowd, absorbing every detail in the room from the decadent chandelier consuming the ceiling down to the threadwork on every lady's gown. Raising his eyebrows slightly, he glanced somewhat patronizingly over his shoulder at his younger half-brother. "Our position within the nobility of France will engender our family with an amalgam of protection from our cannibalistic father," Elijah noted, his gloved hands dropping to his waist where he laced his fingers together and stood peacefully at the edge of the room. Elijah fit in perfectly with this sort of society, with his prim composure and his decorum leaking out of his pores.

Klaus, on the other hand, was quite capable of fitting in but had never seen much point. His strength exceeded these fragile humans a hundredfold, and he found no need to pretend to be one of them. Elijah had explained it several times over the centuries, but he still found it quite boring. He would fit in as much as he believed necessary, or entertaining, at the time. His dirty blond hair was half-pulled back and tied into a velvet band to keep it from his eyes, and his dark-colored apparel coupled with an exorbitantly expensive, laced shirt had been hand-picked by Elijah. Not that Klaus couldn't dress himself: that was yet another task which better suited his brother's taste.

Fiddling with the fluff of lace around his right wrist, Klaus cut his eyes to his sister who had already inserted herself into the crowd. Her blond curls bounced merrily, her blue eyes glittering with a mixture of glee and mischievousness as she was swept through the crowd by a particularly average nobleman whose name Klaus couldn't care to call to memory. His blue eyes narrowed, darkening as he watched through the dancers, his eyes seeing none of them around his sister.

Lifting his chin to motion toward their sister, he leaned conspiratorially closer to Elijah although the other man could easily hear him thanks to their heightened vampire senses. "Bekah seems to be enjoying herself with that sod," he commented, an edge of bitterness in his tone as he glared at the pair dancing near the center of the massive dancefloor. Elijah glanced over, catching sight of Rebekah after a moment, and smiled slightly.

"She certainly does," he agreed, ignoring Klaus's simmering beside him.

Drawing himself up, Klaus crossed his arms behind his back and raised one eyebrow. "I could eat him for sport," he growled, a dark smile curving his lips into a wolfish smirk.

"I've heard that before," Elijah countered with an entertained smile, his eyes scanning the crowd again, memorizing every detail. After a moment, he looked back at his brother. "Rebekah understands the importance of our position here."

Klaus breathed audibly out through his nose as he watched the dancing, not in the mood to join. He didn't need Elijah's coaching right now, or rather, he wasn't in the mood for it. He'd heard it a thousand times. They understood one another, and he understood his role as well as the rest of them, he simply wasn't in the mood to be spoken to like a child. Bored and irritable, he shifted his weight and looked around the room once more, narrowing his eyes as he intentionally ignored Rebekah and her dull dancing partner.

Curiosity and suspicion replaced the aggravation in his eyes as he didn't see their fourth companion. "Where is Kol?"

* * *

><p>The girl's back slammed roughly into the ornate wall of the hallway, her raven curls capitulating from the pins struggling to hold them up as the force collapsed her topknot. Her dress was bunched up around her waist, the expensive fabric crumpling and crinkling as her fingers crushed it in pleasure. Her head arched backward and her chin thrust upward as she struggled to contain a euphoric moan.<p>

"_Saperlipopette_!" she cried breathlessly, her voice bouncing then dying in the deserted hallway. Her dress rustled and shifted, releasing a tousled brown head of hair and the wolfish grin of none other than Kol Mikaelson.

"Enjoying yourself, darling?" he asked her, pushing himself smoothly up from his knees and grabbing her by her corseted waist, pulling her against him as she released the fabric of her dress and grasped his shoulders.

"Don't stop, _mon cher_, please. Don't stop," she begged him, her hips writhing impatiently against his. Her hands slipped from his shoulders, quickly moving to his pants to unlace them. Her fingers slipped in her impatience, but he made it easier for her by arching his hips back so she could more easily reach, his mouth capturing hers as she worked.

He helped her release his pants and then hooked his hands beneath her thighs, hoisting her effortlessly up the wall as she wrapped her legs around him. Holding her weight with one hand and the pressure of his hips, he used his other hand to guide her hair out of the way, pushing her head toward her shoulder as she moaned delightedly into his ear.

The veins sprouted from his eyes, the pressure building up beneath his eyelashes, and his fangs slid out a moment before he sank his teeth into the tender skin of her neck. She gasped in a mixture of pain and passion, but she was caught up in his thrall and couldn't escape. The taste of her blood, hot and embued with the heady hormones released during sex, was as euphoric as the feeling of her body accepting his, and he viciously bit down harder. Her human body couldn't handle the concoction of sensations and she went over the edge, her fingers digging into his tunic as she orgasmed.

"_Qu'est ce que se passe_?!" exclaimed a distinctively male voice, his French accent strong with surprise and dismay.

Kol extracted his fangs from the girl's neck in a moment, straightening as he supported her against the wall. Her gasps of pleasure choked in her throat, strangling as she struggled to contain her orgasm as her feet fell to the floor. She hastily shoved her dress down to cover herself, her cheeks erupting brightly in embarrassment. Kol deftly covered himself, not bothering to wipe the blood from his chin, as he narrowed his eyes and focused on the man standing a few yards from their tryst in the hallway.

The man was portly and dressed in the clothes of an exalted butler. His face was shrewd and drawn so he resembled a gassy, perturbed polecat. Kol had seen enough of his kind to recognize a pompous servingman when he saw one. Instantly, a bright grin lit his face and he stepped back so he was standing closer to the middle of the hallway with his arms held out slightly from his sides. Angry French ranting erupted from the man as Kol mockingly faced him, but the Original was unaffected.

"I must admit, I'm not that familiar with the native tongue yet, old chap," he commented with a cheeky smile. Glancing over at his companion, he offered her an amused smile, but she was embarrassedly staring at the floor, her cheeks growing redder. Kol frowned, pouting exaggeratedly, and looked back at the man as he advanced on them, yelling something in French about disgrace.

Reaching out, Kol planted a hand on the man's chest, effectively stopping him in his tracks. His eyes grew serious even though he continued to smile. The servant looked up, frowning in consternation, and Kol caught his gaze, his pupils dilating and spinning as he worked the art of compulsion on the man's soggy mind.

"I'm going to need you to forget that last part, darling," he commented off-handedly to the man, "Well, the blood part anyway. The rest of it…" He motioned between himself and the girl who was now watching him with wide eyes, confusion and fear covering her face. "Do remember that, please." His grin widened and he released the man, leaving him standing dumbly in the middle of the hallway, before turning to the girl. She shrank away from him, her eyes wide and baleful, unsure what he would do to her.

Her blood trickled down the side of her neck, staining her collarbone and the lacy frill at the top of her dress. Reaching up, Kol cupped the side of her face and smiled, his eyes dark and swirling as he looked down at her.

"What… what are you?" she stammered, her ecstasy from only minutes before now turned into fear of the unknown.

He smiled brilliantly at her, his dark eyes looking like the blackest night in the dim hallway. "That doesn't matter now. What does matter is that you're going to forget," his eyes were twisting, the pupils absorbing every speck of light in the room and captivating her. She went limp against the wall, captured by his gaze.

"You will forget I fed on you," he spoke conversationally, reaching into the breast pocket of his tunic and withdrawing a handkerchief. Dabbing at her neck, he took her hand and made her hold the fabric, guiding her hand to clean herself up. "Surely you tripped and cut yourself while cleaning," he noted.

"I cut myself while cleaning," she repeated, her voice dull and monotone as she repeated the thoughts he was fabricating in her mind.

"Don't forget the fun we had though, darling," he reminded her, smirking irascibly as he stepped back and straightened his clothes.

Leaving her standing like a statue against the wall, he turned back to the hallway and smirked at the man who was just coming out of the haze of his compulsion. Patting the man on the inside of his shoulder, Kol sidestepped him in one smooth motion and departed at a leisurely pace down the hallway. Behind him, the reprimanding commenced as the Original vampire smiled, pleased with himself, and disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

The throne chamber bustled with activity, a long line of bodies snaking out of it like the thrashing tail of an irritated lion. An assortment of people filled the great halls of the palace, ranging from noblemen and their wives visiting from far away down to farmers with their lopsided hats and hands which looked seldom washed. The three Mikaelson siblings stood close together, each of them watchful of their surroundings. Elijah's chin was lifted slightly, his dark eyes cast around the room absorbing every detail as usual. The sunlight illuminated the faces which had been shrouded by darkness the evening before, and he categorized the nobles he saw, sorting them in his mind like chess pieces in his own personal game. Klaus stood beside him with Rebekah on the far side.

Leaning closer to his sister, Klaus slipped his arm around her waist so he could pull her closer to speak with her. She raised her eyebrows at him, daring him to make a scene in such a public place - she knew he wasn't above it - but she said nothing. He smiled and gestured toward the entryway a few yards in front of them. The double doors were flanked by exquisitely-dressed guards, some in the crimson robes of the Cardinal's men and some in the sky blue of the king's musketeers.

"I would wager a bet that Red tastes better than Blue," he commented playfully. "Self-righteousness has a distinct pleasantness to it."

Rebekah smiled, her blue eyes darkening as she smirked amusedly. The gilded fabric around her waist rustled audibly as she shifted her weight beside him. "_Au contraire_, Nik," she countered pleasantly. Anyone listening would only hear the pleasant lilt of their voices and would believe they were talking about the weather and not about which sort of human tastes best on the palette.

She leaned closer to her half-brother, her hawk-like eyes focusing on one of the longer-haired Musketeers standing comfortably along the wall. Cutting her gaze from the musketeer, she looked coyly up at Klaus. "Warriors always taste better than glorified bodyguards," she argued with a smile.

His dark blue eyes flashed and he smirked, releasing her as the line shifted forward and they stepped up to the entrance to the throne room. "You have a good point, sister," he agreed, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "I suppose the only way for us to prove which of us is right is to partake."

Rebekah inclined her head, feigning seriousness although trying to hide a smile. "A taste test is the only way," she agreed in a girlish tone, mocking the prim ladies flitting around the castle.

The two of them stifled laughter as their older brother cut a silencing look at them. Rebekah slid her arm through Klaus's elbow, leaning on him and hiding her face behind his shoulder as she struggled to obey Elijah's wordless command. They needed to behave themselves. How dare they?

Klaus offered Elijah a pleasant grin that the eldest Mikaelson ignored as he turned back to the audience the French king and queen were holding with their latest subjects. The Mikaelsons were next in line.

Suddenly, a disruption clamored up the line from behind them, drawing the attention of the three Originals. Out of the crowd emerged Kol, his clothes in slight disarray and a wild smile on his face. Barely containing his vampire speed, he hurried to their side in a flash, warranting an entertained smile from Klaus and a disdainful look from Elijah.

"Have I missed anything?" Kol asked brightly, glancing among his siblings before standing on his toes to look into the throne room like a child at a parade.

Elijah reached out to grab the lapels of his coat, forcing him to face his older brother as Elijah fussed over his clothes. "How lovely of you to finally arrive. We are next to gain audience with the king and queen," he stated professionally as he flicked Kol's neck to force his chin up so he could straighten the lacy collar of his shirt. "Meanwhile, our brother and sister were debating which flavor of Frenchman they should enjoy for brunch."

Kol raised his eyebrows in amusement and smiled broadly at Klaus and Rebekah. Escaping from Elijah's fussing by batting his hands away, Kol went to Rebekah's other side and looped her free arm through his elbow. Leaning against her so their shoulders were together, he patted her on top of her gloved hand as he laced his fingers through hers. "I've tried the Red and it's quite bitter."

Rebekah looked pointedly at Klaus and sniffed knowingly. "I told you." Before Klaus could respond, Elijah shushed them and ordered them forward into the receiving chamber.

Elijah walked into the chamber with Rebekah positioned arm-in-arm between her remaining two brothers behind him. The four of them came to a halt, and Klaus and Kol released their sister but positioned themselves near to her. She didn't need their protection but this was their dynamic. They were used to it by now. Rebekah was their only female, and while she hated being coddled, their protectiveness was a necessity dictated by societal constructs. Her back was rigid as they stood beside her like bodyguards - she'd complained more than once how she felt more imprisoned than protected in situations like this - but she said nothing. She would give them all an earful later.

The king and queen of France sat stiffly on their thrones, bedecked in expensive fabrics which shone like the sun as its rays radiated around the room. The four Mikaelsons bowed, Rebekah gathering her dress in her hands to perform a perfect curtsey, straightening when the king nodded his approval of their show of respect. Elijah, ever the gentleman, was the one to speak for them all.

"Your Majesties, I wish to present my family," he announced, his voice so smooth it sounded as if he was working a thread of compulsion into the words. He motioned behind himself at each of them, "Lord Niklaus, Lady Rebekah, and Lord Kol of House Mikaelson of England." Turning back to face the regents, he dipped his head respectfully, "And I am Lord Elijah Mikaelson. We have traveled far to settle in your beautiful country."

The king, a raven-haired man with a pinched nose and youthful features, shifted his ankles so they were crossed. His hands were positioned on the arms of his lavish seat, each of his fingers bedecked with one gaudy ring after another. The combination of his shining outfit, his flowing, wavy black hair resting on his shoulders, and his weasel-like face was laughable, and Rebekah bit the inside of her bottom lip to resist laughing. He looked like a child who was about to have a temper tantrum on the throne, and his insignificant height didn't help matters. However, as he sat forward slightly to greet Elijah, he didn't seem angry. Perhaps his face simply looked as if he perpetually smelled something.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lords and lady," the king spoke, his French accent thick as he cursorily glanced over the four of them. They didn't seem to interest him much. They were merely new subjects, new nobles whose arrival would inflate his pockets. The thought mildly perturbed Rebekah, and she could feel Klaus stiffen beside her. He'd noticed it as well, and the idea of a human looking down on them irritated him. He considered himself better than humans, with their fragile lifespans equal to a candle's flame in comparison to the Originals' immortality.

"The pleasure is ours, my liege," Elijah answered with a genteel smile. "If I may be so bold as to request something of you, only days after arriving in your fair land?"

The king raised his eyebrows, not expecting this turn in the conversation. He nodded slightly, "Proceed."

Elijah straightened, untwining his hands and gesturing toward Rebekah on his right side. She knew this was her cue, and she smoothly glided forward until she was standing beside him. He gently rested his hand on the back of her elbow as he addressed the king once more.

"My sister is unwed and still a maiden," he pointed out. Rebekah's face remained composed and emotionless as Elijah wielded the story he'd been fabricating for decades, reusing when they relocated. This was part of the elaborate plan the eldest Mikaelson had concocted to protect them from their father. He believed France would offer them safety. At least, he hoped a new country and new lives would protect them from Mikael. Elijah did everything he could to preserve them, and Rebekah played her role in honor of Elijah's efforts.

"If your majesties would be so kind as to find a place for her among the queen's ladies, my brothers and I would be eternally grateful," Elijah concluded respectfully. It was astounding how his moral tongue could weave a phrase. The way he used language was magical.

The queen reacted now, sitting up even straighter in her high-backed seat. The expansive collar of her dress fanned out behind her crown of honey curls, wreathing her in a halo of her personal grandeur. The layers of her exquisite gown matched her husband, rich blue fabric decorated with golden brocade which cascaded over her chair and spilled out onto the floor around her chair. Her light blue eyes glittered intelligently, mimicking the sparkling jewels of the circlet resting in her up-do as she openly scrutinized Rebekah. Rebekah met her gaze and didn't look away although she should have. It was impolite to stare directly into the gaze of a royal, but Rebekah didn't care. The queen's face betrayed none of her thoughts as she examined the Mikaelson sister.

Rebekah had heard the queen wasn't much older than the age she herself was eternally mired in, and her youthful features supported the rumors. She couldn't be much older than eighteen, but the keen spark of intelligence in her eyes spoke volumes. This was not a shallow teenager like some queens Rebekah had met. She was a woman who deserved the power human government had given her.

"It so happens one of my handmaidens was just dismissed for being less than... pure as a handmaiden should be," the queen commented, sizing Rebekah up.

At the end of the line of siblings, Kol's smirk was almost audible as he smiled proudly to himself. His amusement was contagious, causing a knowing grin to curve Klaus's lips as well. Elijah expertly contained his reaction and ignored them both as Rebekah lifted her chin and continued watching the queen.

"While I am willing to evaluate your request, _monsieur_," the queen noted to Elijah, "I wish to know what the lady Rebekah thinks of this arrangement."

Rebekah was honestly taken aback by the queen's comment. She wasn't used to being addressed. She was accustomed to remaining silent while her older brother enacted his plans for their family. Of course she had her own opinions, but she'd been trained by centuries of patriarchal society to keep them to herself. Now, the queen of France was openly asking her opinion.

Immediately, Klaus sobered and looked up from where he'd been staring at the stone floor, the queen's words piquing his attention. She rose from her throne, the fabric of her gown almost soundless as she stood and glided to the edge of the stairs leading down to where the Mikaelson siblings watched her. No one else in the room moved as the queen came forward, stepping gracefully down the two stairs so she was standing at Rebekah's level. None of them had seen a monarch behave such a way in their few centuries of life, and the four of them were focused in varying degree of curiosity on this human queen.

She stepped up to Rebekah and her austere demeanor dissolved into a kind smile as she looked at the other female. "What do you wish, _mademoiselle_?" she asked again, gently urging Rebekah's answer instead of forcing it. As a monarch, she was within her right to force her subjects to give her whatever she wanted, no matter how minuscule. But she refused to do so.

Rebekah could feel her brothers' gazes on her - all except Klaus who was staring so hard at the queen she was amazed the girl didn't spontaneously burst into flame from the intensity of her brother's eyes - and she relaxed as the queen's merry gaze helped to soothe her. For once, she was allowed to make her own decision. Of course, she would go along with Elijah's plan because she believed it was the best for their family. But she couldn't express her glee over finally having the option. She'd never been offered the choice before. It had always been understood she would comply.

"I would be honored, my queen," Rebekah admitted, allowing herself to smile at the young queen.

The queen smiled brightly and clasped her hands together in front of her happily. It was a youthful gesture, but she didn't look childish. Her glee wasn't a weakness as some monarchs seemed to believe their emotions to be. Swiveling at her waist to look at her husband past the expanse of her wide collar, Queen Anne smiled delightedly. "How delightful!" she exclaimed, warranting a small, emotionless smile from the king. Turning back to Rebekah, the queen didn't allow her husband's lackluster reaction to tarnish her good mood. "Come with me, _mon amie_," she urged, motioning for Rebekah to follow as she turned to depart from the throne room.

Glancing among her brothers as the queen turned her back, Rebekah didn't further hesitate but followed after the human queen, unable to contain her own excitement. For once, she was departing on her brother's mission, but it was for herself. She'd made this decision, and the freedom seeped into her joints so she felt as if she may bounce when she stepped.

Elijah recovered first and looked up at the king with a genial smile on his handsome face. "Thank you, your majesty," he commented as the queen and his sister disappeared through the hidden doors at the side of the room away from the gathered crowds.

"Welcome to France, _messieurs_," the king answered, his tone mildly bored. With that, they were dismissed.


	3. Chapter 3

The rustling of satin filled her ears as Rebekah raced through the expansive gardens surrounding the palace. She laughed gleefully, a sound she hadn't heard from her own lips in decades. It was sincere laughter, the sound of happiness. Freedom bubbled up in her chest, and she slowed, holding her arms out to her sides and closing her eyes as she inclined her face to the sun. The warmth didn't affect her eternally cool skin, but she didn't care. She felt alive.

She feigned a deep breath, pulling her shoulders up slightly and puffing out her chest in the way she remembered. She'd become an expert at pretending to be human over the centuries, but for the first time in close to five hundred years, she could almost imagine she was human again. She enjoyed her strength, speed, and vitality as a vampire, but she missed the fleetingness of humanity. She missed the struggle for survival that beset a mortal.

"Come on, Rebekah!" cried the young French queen in her pleasant, lilting voice, laughter in her tone.

Dropping her chin, her golden curls bouncing on the top of her head, Rebekah's blue eyes caught sight of her newest companion instantly. Queen Anne raced across the garden from the opposite direction, her brocade gown grasped in her slender fingers as she ran. She was being silly and entirely unladylike, but she didn't seem to care. She was carefree, something Rebekah was sure she seldom experienced. Even while she ran, she was graceful like a deer springing across the ground, and Rebekah grinned before racing off after her.

They were becoming fast friends, and Rebekah found no trouble in assuming her role as the queen's lady. She was enjoying France already, falling into a safe pattern until she'd almost forgotten about the ever-looming threat of her father. Queen Anne had taken her in quickly, and they got along marvelously. The queen had a fiery spirit she didn't show to many, and Rebekah enjoyed that about her. As far as humans were concerned, this queen was one of her favorites.

Attention was lavished on the golden beauty now that she was a part of the queen's ladies. She was used to attention, but she always relished in it. Gentlemen whispered about her in the halls, unaware she could hear them with her heightened vampire hearing. Their whispers about her beauty inflated her ego, and she enjoyed it. She deserved the praise. She was an Original, after all.

Catching the queen was easy since Rebekah never got winded and she had the art of immortality on her side, but she carefully kept her vampirism in check. Running past, she reached the perfectly manicured shrubbery at the end of the path first and laughed victoriously as the queen padded to a stop beside her, panting and smiling.

"Ah, such fun!" she exclaimed, reaching out to pat Rebekah's gloved wrist as she caught her breath.

"Are you sure the nobles won't look down on you for this, Your Majesty?" Rebekah asked, pretending to be winded although she certainly wasn't.

The queen sniffed dismissively. "The nobles look down on anyone for anything. I couldn't care less. They have no right to judge us for having fun." She cut a mischievous look at Rebekah, and the Original sister laughed brightly.

"And you can call me Anne, Rebekah," the queen pointed out with a small smile. "We're friends now. There's no need for such formalities when it's just the two of us."

They shared a conspiratorial glance and a smile before Anne looked away, toward the entrance to the expansive gardens. The section where they stood was a low-cut maze of shrubs interspersed with massive planters containing brilliant, colorful flowers. Behind them, the gardens ran off toward the horizon, the shrubs giving way to the swooping branches of yew trees which clothed the pathways in dense shade and offered respite from the heat in the summer months.

At the mouth of the gardens was the exquisite palisade where a small contingent of Musketeers stood guard, ever-watchful over the queen and her ladies. Anne raised her eyebrows and glanced back at Rebekah, motioning subtly with her chin toward the Musketeers stationed out of earshot.

"There seems to be no end to the amount of attention you receive, _mon amie_," she pointed out, smiling brightly at Rebekah as she turned to look at the guards. When Rebekah looked up, one of the musketeers swiftly looked away but not before she'd noticed him watching her. She felt a feeling akin to her heart leaping in her chest, and she would have blushed if she still had the ability to do so.

Noticing her reaction, Anne frowned slightly and leaned forward so she could whisper. "Have you thought of finding a husband? You're of age, and there are plenty of men around who could offer you a wonderful life. Surely your brothers would approve?"

Rebekah sighed breathlessly and lifted her chin, mild exasperation forming a crease between her blue eyes. "My brothers tend to be very... involved in the affairs of my heart," she admitted carefully. The truth of the matter was that Klaus enjoyed destroying her lovers as if it was his life goal. She believed Elijah wanted her to be happy, but Klaus's paranoia following Alexander's betrayal overrode any of her other brothers' intentions for her. She hadn't bothered giving her heart to anyone since. It had been five centuries, but she didn't care to get deeply involved with a man. Alexander's betrayal and attempted murder of her and her family had scarred her to an extent that she didn't care to try. Her lovers had been merely that: objects to play with before she fed on them. She shared some of them with Klaus or Kol, or both, and some of them she kept entirely for herself, but otherwise she remained detached. Perhaps one day she would love again, but her trust was broken. Five centuries hadn't proven otherwise.

"I was to be married once, and it ended badly," she confessed, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

Anne pursed her lips and glanced toward the musketeers before looking back at Rebekah. "But you can't be old enough to have been engaged once, can you?"

She realized a moment too late that she'd allowed her words to almost give her away. Smiling at the queen to cover her misstep, she shrugged her shoulders upward. "I was a bit younger than I am now. After that travesty, my brothers agreed it was acceptable for me to wait a few years."

The explanation placated the queen and she nodded knowingly. "Brothers can be rather protective," she acquiesced with a small smile. "Well, perhaps if you overcome what happened to you, then I could see to it that you find yourself an acceptable match." Anne's friendly smile was contagious and Rebekah nodded slightly as the queen wrapped their elbows together, walking beside her at a slow pace back through the garden.

* * *

><p>"The trade you will introduce into the kingdom is most beneficial," the king remarked, walking with his hands resting behind his back and his black hair in curls down the sides of his pinched face.<p>

Elijah smiled slightly and nodded, "I certainly hope so, Your Majesty."

"France would not prosper without those of your kind to hold up her arms," King Louis pointed out, his expensive shoes crunching on the gravel pathway as he walked slowly through the garden flanked by the two older Mikaelson brothers. Looking at Klaus on his left side, he was forced to lift his chin slightly thanks to the difference in their height, and Klaus restrained an amused smile as he noticed.

"What of you, Monsieur Niklaus?" he asked, looking down his regal nose at the Original.

A strained smile flattened Klaus's lips as he consciously resisted the urge to say something sarcastic. "I am the Mikaelson family's trade master," he clarified, not bothering to meet the king's eyes although Elijah was glaring daggers at him, for the disrespect, from the other side of the short man. "My brother is our figure head, the preservationist of our family's history," he deigned to look down at the shorter king now, his eyes dancing darkly. "I prefer to get my hands dirty."

After a moment's pause, the king threw his head back and chortled, thoroughly amused and remaining unaffected by Klaus's threatening nature. Klaus assumed he was merely too dense to be wary for his own good. Apparently the man was only sovereign because he'd inherited the title, not because his personality earned it. Klaus wasn't impressed.

Cutting his eyes over the man's head, his gaze darkened as he met Elijah's eyes. His irritation with this puny human king was mounting, but Elijah inclined his head slightly, silently urging him to keep himself in check. Tilting his head, he pursed his lips in exasperation but said nothing else as the three of them turned a corner in the massive garden.

"I can't say I've ever gotten my hands dirty," Louis admitted, bringing his hands around in front of him and looking down at them for a moment. He turned them over to admire himself before dropping one hand and holding the other slightly out in front of him, wringing the fingers of his right hand together in thought.

"That sort of work is best left for others, my liege. Leave the dirty work to those equipped for such things," Elijah added, his tone grating on Klaus's nerves. He'd never been a fan of niceties, but Elijah excelled in the art of kissing one's arse when he wished.

The king waved dismissively and nodded. "_Oui, oui_," he commented offhandedly in agreement. He walked a step in front of them as etiquette dictated, and Klaus was tempted to glare disrespectfully at the back of his head, but he entertained himself with violent thoughts instead.

Suddenly, the king halted, forcing the two Mikaelson brothers to draw up short to avoid colliding with him. They followed his eyes across the garden to the sight of their sister whispering and giggling with the queen.

"She is a beauty, is she not?" the king noted, relaxing his hands to his sides as he watched the two women. Klaus raised one eyebrow, focusing on his sister and the queen. Rebekah had the severe, powerful look of a vampire, with golden hair, glinting blue eyes, and porcelain skin no human woman could truly achieve. He was proud to say she was beautiful in a devastating way, a way which had undone many men over the centuries.

At first glance, the queen paled in comparison, but upon closer inspection he realized he was mistaken. Anne was beautiful in a friable, effervescent way. She was the apotheosis of humanity. Everything about her spoke of life, but in a terminal, finite way. She was like the licking flame of a candle, fiery and tempestuous but bound to a limited lifespan. Once her wick burned down, she would be gone - remembered only by the historians - and that finitude intrigued him.

"Your queen is _trés belle_, Your Majesty," Elijah commented politely, always the gentleman. This was one of those moments when Klaus was relieved Elijah had spoken so he wouldn't have to. If he'd been forced to answer, he would have commented on the king's drabness in comparison to the queen and probably gotten their entire family thrown out of the country.

"_Oui_, of course she is," Louis scoffed, "But I meant... her." He clarified, lifting his chin as he pointed directly at Rebekah with one of his manicured hands.

Elijah's eyebrows rose in surprise, and his mouth gaped open for a moment before he recovered. "_Merci_, my liege. I am certain our sister would be flattered by your praise." Over the king's head, Klaus tilted his head and narrowed his eyes pointedly at Elijah who fixed him with a hard look, silencing him once again.

"As well she should be," the king stated egotistically, still not bothered to look at either of them and keeping his eyes trained licentiously on their sister. The brazenness aggravated Klaus who was the more easily perturbed of the two brothers, and Elijah's tenuous control over his brother's mood swings was quickly losing potency.

Louis finally tore his eyes away and glanced roguishly between the two brothers, a smirk on his face. "I trust Lady Rebekah hasn't found any male companions since your arrival?" he asked, his subtlety thin.

"None of which I know," Elijah admitted, shifting his weight and straightening the collar of his shirt where it rested on his chest over the lapels of his pristine coat. He always fiddled with his clothing when he was uncomfortable.

"_Trés bon_," Louis replied with a half-smirk as he drew himself up to his full height which still left him several inches shorter than Klaus and Elijah. Turning his face slightly toward Elijah, he kept his eyes on their sister while he spoke in a lower tone. "You may consider yourselves favored of the king," he pointed out before looking prepensely up at Elijah.

"I shall have one of my servants arrange a ride for us all," he chirped cheerily, turning back to watch his queen and their sister as the two women huddled together, speaking low enough that the two brothers couldn't even hear them with their heightened hearing. "A nice jaunt into the countryside would do us well. I could use the fresh air, as I'm sure we all could."

"Yes, my liege," Elijah responded, clearing his throat slightly as he acquiesced.

On the king's other side, Klaus tightened his jaw again and decided he could no longer tolerate this man's presence. "_Pardonnez-moi s'il vous plaît_," he spat, departing before waiting for the king's approval. If he stayed one more moment in that pompous brat's presence, he may inflict physical harm on him, and that would thoroughly destroy their plan to blend in. While mental images of the king's terrible clothes ripped to shreds and his body parts scattered to every corner of the gardens was an enticing thought, Klaus resisted the urge by balling his hands into fists at his sides as he stalked through the garden.

He headed straight for his sister and the human queen, and his muscles were stiff by the time he reached them thanks to how tightly wound up he was. The image of the king staring so inappropriately at his baby sister heated his blood, and it showed in his eyes as he arrived in front of the two women.

A dark cloud hung around Klaus as his sudden arrival interrupted their conversation, and he snatched Rebekah roughly by her elbow, pulling her away from the queen. "You'll have to excuse me," he spoke sharply to the queen, "I need to speak with my sister." He drug a protesting Rebekah away by her arm, leaving Anne alone, her eyebrows raised in mild astonishment.

Rebekah tore her arm away from his grasp once they were out of earshot from the queen, turning to face him with a spiteful glare. "How rude!" she admonished him, resisting the childish urge to smack him. "You can't just interrupt the queen, Nik." Her hands were balled up into fists, her arms wooden in front of her so her hands were consumed by the billowing skirt of her dress. She looked like an aggravated little child, and Klaus rolled his eyes.

"I'm not concerned with how rude the queen thinks I am," he pointed out, as if he had to explain himself. When was he ever concerned with how others construed him? Granted, he was secretly tortured by his bastard son status among his family, but no one knew about that outside of his siblings. He certainly couldn't be brought to care what a weak mortal thought of him.

"You should be. Your disrespect could be our undoing here…" Rebekah rambled on, chiding him for his behavior, but he ignored her. Stepping up beside her, he took her arm more gently this time and turned her so they were both facing Elijah and King Louis across the garden. The king was still watching her even now, and Klaus sneered to himself, his nostrils flaring as he almost snorted.

"Stop talking, sister," he ordered her quietly, looking down at her now as her shoulder was pulled hard against his chest. Her mouth shut with an audible pop, and she glared hotly up at him. She hated when he talked to her that way, and he knew it. He knew it would get her attention.

Ignoring her ire, he nodded toward the king and their older brother. "It seems the king has eyes for you, dear sister," he noted, a mocking tone in his voice as he said the word 'king'.

Taken aback, her eyelashes fluttered and she looked away from him toward the entrance to the garden. As if to reiterate her brother's point, the king lifted his chin slightly and smiled at her as if there was no one else on the grounds. Disgust roiled up from the pit of her stomach. Not only was he an unattractive marten of a man, but she considered his wife her friend.

Rebekah wasn't an idiot, and she was familiar with the disloyalty of most marriages within the upper class of Europe. Perhaps it was because of her personal experience with betrayal, but she was completely disgusted by the idea of a man cheating on his wife. Her lip curled slightly at the thought, her eyes darkening as she dropped her chin and watched the king through the tops of her eyes.

Klaus smirked as he noticed her stormy expression and released her arm but remained standing close against her side as he glanced toward the human king. "Don't be so disagreeable, Bekah," he teased her, his eyes glinting with mischief now. "The man is merely admiring you." He was being facetious, and she knew it, so she didn't relent her dark glare as she looked up at him.

"You know as well as I: nobles believe everything they want belongs to them, especially kings," she spat the last word in contempt. She belonged to no one.

Klaus nodded slightly, pursing his lips as he smiled, pleased with her irritation. It delighted him that someone else was as perturbed by the king's behavior as he was, even if it was for a different reason. "Think of it as a game," he suggested, glancing back down at her. Her eyebrows raised primly, interest piquing behind the storm in her eyes.

"Unless you don't think you can play the game with such a… powerful playing piece."

She looked up at him, and he could tell by the rebellious light in her eyes that his subtle challenge had already been accepted.

"Do you doubt my ability to manipulate a king?" she asked, her voice thin and defensive as a wicked glint danced in her gaze. The shadow of a smirk caught the corner of her mouth as she stared her brother down.

Feigning innocence, he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender and leaned away from her. "I don't doubt your abilities at all, dear sister. Precedent merely supports an argument otherwise."

Rebekah narrowed her eyes at him and shifted her weight, twining her hands in front of her. She briefly glanced toward the king, this time smiling charmingly at him when she caught his eye. Leaning closer to her brother, she spoke out of the side of her mouth as she kept her eyes on the man who was now her target.

"Precedent should prepare to be proven wrong. No man is immune to a clever lady's manipulation."


	4. Chapter 4

"What does one wear to a 'jaunt' anyway?" Kol remarked facetiously, drawing himself up severely in front of the floor length, gilded mirror hanging on the wall. He perpetrated his best impression of Elijah who vigorously ignored him across the room.

Seated on an ivory couch behind him, with his wrist draped comfortably over the wooden-accented arm of the seat, Klaus glanced up through the tops of his eyes and chuckled to himself. He was already dressed in dark riding pants tucked into knee-high leather boots. His leather vest was cinched up over a billowing white shirt and his shoulder-length hair was tied back out of his face with a velvet ribbon.

"If you dress too fancily, you may frighten the horses," Klaus joked with an amused grin. Kol nodded his head dramatically in agreement as Rebekah playfully pushed him out of the way so she could admire her reflection in the mirror.

"Don't be ridiculous, Nik. Kol has a way with animals," she pointed out, her tone light and teasing as she looked at Kol and pursed her lips. "Because he is one."

Kol childishly scrunched his nose at her and she raised an eyebrow at him, smiling gleefully.

"Sister, remember your manners," Elijah intoned as he stepped up behind Klaus sitting on the couch. A sly smile teased the corners of his mouth as he straightened the lacy frill of his riding shirt. "It's in his nature to be boorish."

Kol sniffed proudly, standing up straight and inflating his chest so he looked like the pompous French king himself. "That's right," he agreed, accepting the comment as a compliment as he did all terrible things said about him. He took pride in being a scoundrel. Being appropriate was so dreadfully boring.

"You should be thanking me as well, brother," he pointed out, his dark eyes glinting as he grinned darkly at their oldest brother. "I single-handedly freed up a position among the queen's ladies for our dear sister. I'm obediently following your 'noble' plan." He gracefully draped himself over the opposite end of the couch from Klaus, grinning cheekily up at Elijah behind him.

Elijah sighed soundlessly out through his nose, a habit he'd acquired despite not requiring oxygen to breathe. Finishing his work of straightening his clothes, he raised his eyebrows slightly as he looked at his youngest brother. "While your methods are not those I would have chosen..." Kol made a sound that was a mixture of amusement and pride, "I do appreciate your willingness to do what you must for this family. Not all of us are as dedicated, it seems."

Klaus glowered on the couch and began tapping his fingers on the wood decorating the arm of the chair. "No need attempting to veil your barbs with subtlety, 'Lijah."

"My point is merely that we all know you could try harder, Niklaus," Elijah clarified, the characteristic patronizing tone back in his voice. Rebekah intently fiddled on the ties on the front of her dress, avoiding eye contact with her brothers in the mirror, while Kol avidly watched the altercation between them unfolding like a child watching Shakespeare.

Klaus surged up from where he'd been sitting relaxedly on the cushions, whirling to face Elijah over the back of the couch. His hot temper rolled up into his eyes like a tempest, colliding like a storm front against Elijah's coolheadedness. "We've been doing this for centuries, Elijah," he pointed out. "We move, we settle, we become a part of human society, we blend in... Then Mikael inevitably finds us again, and we're forced to flee and start over. It's exhausting and repetitive."

Kol nodded and pointed at Klaus from his seat on the opposite arm of the couch. "I have to agree with that." Elijah ignored Kol's quips as he stared Klaus down, silent and stolid as always. He was like a stone in the center of the raging river that was Klaus's temper, smoothed over the centuries by the barrage.

"How long until we're forced to flee again: our tails tucked between our legs like the dogs Father believes us to be?" Klaus snapped exasperatedly.

Rebekah was watching them in the mirror now, her fingertips wrapped in the silken ties on the bodice of her dress. They all hated running, but Klaus seemed always to be the one confront the issue. The rest of them attempted to forget it, but Klaus never could. When he reminded them, shivers ran over the surface of her skin. Mikael was her father, but she couldn't even call him that any more. He hunted them, he stalked them, and he wanted them dead. A person's father wasn't supposed to want the death of his children. She could no longer remember a pleasant time in their lives when Mikael was involved, if there ever had been one.

"Am I wrong?" Klaus asked them confrontationally, holding his hands out at his sides and glancing among them.

Elijah pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling with another sigh. "I don't like running any more than you do, brother," he admitted, lowering his chin and looking back into Klaus's face.

"And that is why it is so important we be successful here. For centuries, the two of you have run rampant like barbarians," he reminded them, pointing at both of his brothers. "That behavior has done little to disguise us from our father."

He glowered at both of them, and both had the wisdom not to argue this time. While Kol never intended to give up the debase things he enjoyed about life, he knew Elijah was right. He could easily run and live on his own as he had done several times over the centuries, but deep inside he knew his wild behavior had an adverse effect on their family unit as a whole. On the surface, he may not appear to care, but deep down, he did.

Elijah continued as none of them dared to interrupt him, "Together, we are stronger. As a unit, we can do this. Perhaps we won't be safe from Father forever, but if we work together, we have a better chance."

"We're a family," he entreated them, glancing pointedly at Klaus and Rebekah now. The three of them had made an eternal pact over their mother's grave so many centuries ago now. He still remembered that moment as if it was yesterday.

"Always and forever."

Klaus lifted his gaze from where he'd been glaring at the floor, and his stormy expression softened. Rebekah pulled her shoulders up in a breathless sigh, lifting her chin as she turned to face him. "Always and forever," she repeated quietly.

Klaus nodded, his jaw set and his eyes hard. All of his siblings looked at him and he lifted his chin, dropping his shoulders as his eyelids lowered in resignation. "I no longer wish to run," he added before nodding once more. "I will do what I can to protect our family."

* * *

><p>The steady thump thump of hoofbeats resonated like a heartbeat, driving into the ground and falling away as they ran. Sunlight illuminated the French countryside, turning every color into a vibrant version of itself and inundating the land with life. The only sounds beside the roaring of the wind in his ears was the beating of the horses' hooves and their panting breaths. Sweat began to foam up on his horse's neck, but Klaus pushed him harder, paying close attention to the animal's heartbeat beneath him. The gelding was an Arabian, and his fiery temperament lended itself well to his rider. The animal lusted for speed, and Klaus didn't desire to rein him in.<p>

He was pushing toward the front of the group of riders before he noticed. Etiquette dictated they stay behind the king and queen, and only the thought of Elijah's inevitable tirade later should he be disrespectful made him pull the horse back slightly. They were at a flat-out run now, and both horse and rider were grateful. Plodding along through the rolling hills surrounding the castle had been positively dreadful. He'd felt restrained, and his horse was impatient and high-strung. Now that they were running, both of them relaxed, allowing the rushing wind to become a deafening roar in their ears.

Too soon, the tracker leading the group blew his horn signaling the group to halt and water the horses. He announced they would turn back to the castle once the horses were rested and ready to depart once more.

Climbing effortlessly down from his horse, Klaus ran his fingers through the creature's mane and released him to a squire to be watered. Waiting until the boy moved the horse past him, he busied himself with removing his riding gloves as he glanced up around the clearing where they'd stopped. Tall slender trees provided a covering of shade far above their heads, and the group was interspersed among the trees. Large fields of various crops rolled out into the distance beyond the line of trees, disappearing toward the horizon. With his keen eyesight, he could see the castle in the distance and knew it would be a few hours until they returned. He was relieved to be outside. Being inside for too many days made him as antsy as the Arabian horse.

The party was spread through the trees like an assortment of potpourri. The king was dismounting his horse several yards away with Rebekah and Elijah nearby. Elijah helped his sister dismount before the king offered her a wide grin and his arm, intent to take a walk with her. Just in time, Elijah offered his companionship as a chaperone so Rebekah wouldn't be left entirely alone with the lusting king. While Rebekah could certainly handle herself with the man, Elijah was too proper to allow his sister to go wandering alone through the woods with a man. How scandalous.

Klaus smirked amusedly to himself and glanced away from them through the trees, noticing Kol speaking intently with the three Musketeers who'd accompanied the group. As he listened, he could hear his brother asking the musketeer in question what the French words for certain inappropriate phrases were.

Snorting in amusement, he leapt out of the way just as the last horse in the party whinnied and trampled to a stop right where he'd been standing. Brushing himself off, he looked angrily up at the rider, preparing to curse him out for almost running him over with the horse.

However, the rider wasn't a 'him' at all, but none other than the queen herself. She was dressed casually compared to what he'd seen her wear before, in a corseted purple dress with a low collar and fitted sleeves. Seated side-saddle, she slid down from the horse's back in one fluid motion, not bothering to wait for one of the servants to help her.

Holding his tongue, Klaus raised his eyebrows and scowled at her as she brushed off her clothes. Finally, she lifted her head, and her light eyes caught sight of him instantly. "Lord Niklaus, I didn't see you there," she admitted blithely.

"Apparently," he retorted, his tone clipped.

She drew herself up, running her gloved hands down the bodice of her lavender gown as he looked him in the eye. She didn't back down from him like most people did. The king was a mental simpleton and wasn't wise enough to be afraid of him, but this woman was something else entirely. He didn't interpret it as stupidity or arrogance with her.

"You sound as if you think I may have tried to run you over on purpose," she noted, her prim eyebrows raised as she reached up to gently pat her horse on its neck while the squire gathered the reins. As if offended by the thought, the mare turned her head and nipped at Klaus before the squire apologized and hurried the horse away from the two adults.

Glancing after the departing horse, he fixed the queen with a perturbed look on his face. "I suppose it wouldn't seem unjust considering my affront to you yesterday," he remarked, his eyes darkening as a grin teased at her lips.

"You were quite rude, _monsieur_," she pointed out blatantly with an amused light behind her eyes. Lifting her skirt gracefully, she sidestepped him and glided past to the trees.

Fuming obviously, he turned and went after her as she moved away from him. "I was quite intent to speak with my sister."

"Indeed you _were_," she agreed, stressing her words in a way that almost sounded as if she was mocking him.

He caught up to her, aggravated and obviously so as he glowered down at her beside him. She walked demurely through the trees, her footfalls so smooth that even he couldn't hear them, and pointedly refused to glance over at him. Unaccustomed to not getting the attention he wanted (admittedly, he was a bit of a brat when he was aggravated), it perturbed him that she wouldn't show him even the ounce of respect it would take to meet his eye.

She may be the queen of France, but he was Klaus Mikaelson, one of the strongest beings on the earth.

Swiftly and smoothly, he pivoted and stepped in front of her, forcing her to come to a halt before she collided with him. Her light blue-green eyes widened and her curls bounced on the crown of her head as she stopped.

"Surely, you understand the importance of matters of the family," he countered, leaning forward slightly, his posture confrontational as always. He was accustomed to his behavior coercing people to cower before him. Every step his adversary retreated was a victory for him, and he reveled in even such minuscule control.

But Anne didn't balk, and she didn't budge. Her eyes sparked, recognizing and accepting the challenge in his posture.

Suddenly, she smiled, but the expression looked more like a challenge than a pleasantry. Klaus frowned slightly as she refused to back down from him.

"That's just the thing," she mused conversationally, twining her fingers comfortably in front of her, "Your eldest brother Lord Elijah is clearly the family's figurehead, its moral leader. Your sister Rebekah is, of course, one of my ladies-in-waiting and dear to my heart already. Even Lord Kol seems to be readying himself to join the Musketeers, perhaps."

She glanced over her shoulder through the trees to where Kol laughed jovially with the king's musketeers. Turning smoothly back to Klaus, she looked him directly in the eye before she spoke again.

"Do you have a purpose, _Monsier_ Niklaus?"

Her tone sounded polite to anyone overhearing, but he recognized the barbs from her tongue. Among her kind, she was a saccharine sweet viper, underestimated by most of her contemporaries. While she looked like a wholesome, irreproachable teenager, she was anything but.

As he was sure she'd intended, her question riled him up, and he ground his teeth together as he lunged toward her. He didn't grab her - manhandling the queen was an offense she could have him punished for, and while he wasn't concerned about human punishments, compelling the entire execution staff would be such an inconvenience - but he closed the space between them and glared angrily down at her.

Accepting the challenge, Anne raised her chin and glared back at him. He could hear her heartrate accelerate with adrenaline and a soft pink flush filled her cheeks.

"Perhaps you should watch your tongue," he hissed, his eyes flashing. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he struggled not to tear her apart merely for piquing his anger.

He suffered on a daily basis, fighting with his inner turmoil over the fact that Mikael was not his father. It plagued him. In every way, Mikael was his father, but they did not share blood. He reminded himself that he didn't care: Mikael was a monster he did not want to relate to. But there was a gaping pit of desire within his chest where he hungered for the father he'd never had.

There was also the reminder that Elijah, Rebekah, and Kol were not his full-blooded siblings. They were his family, yes. But he'd spent many a day asking himself whether he was theirs. No matter how often they reminded him of their vow - Always and Forever - his heart was hardened toward their devotion. There were times when he loathed himself far too much to ever allow himself to unconditionally love his family.

The queen's words reminded him of every bitter shortcoming of his heredity that he carried with him every day of his life.

Anne glared hotly up at him from where she stood, several inches shorter than him but imposing in her own way. "I am the queen of France, _Monsieur_ Mikaelson," she snapped at him, "It is _you_ who should mind your tongue."

Indignantly, she spun on her heel and stalked off through the trees away from him. He didn't follow, and stood alone with his hands fisted at his sides for long moments. After her footsteps faded away, headed back toward the clearing, he remained there alone for quite some time.

When he was sure he was alone, he gritted his teeth and swung around suddenly, slamming his hand into a nearby sapling and snapping it clean in half. The top half of the young tree splintered, some of the shards embedding in his knuckles. He didn't feel the pain, only the irritation that something else had gotten in his way.

Prying the wooden shards from his skin, he stalked off deeper into the trees away from the party. They could return to the castle without him. He had no further care for companionship.


	5. Chapter 5

Darkness had settled, bearing with it an eery chill. The young man, barely more than a boy at the age of sixteen, hurried along through the empty corridors of the palace's massive stables. Straw crunched beneath his booted feet, and the rustle of his heavy cloak mixed with the sighs and soft whinnies of the horses in their stalls. The chill settled in his bones, and he distantly thought it was strange to be cold this early in the year, but he hurried along at his task so he could finish and return home.

Reaching the last stall, he frowned at the sight of the open door and hastened forward to tend to the horse inside. The rider must have returned late and left before he could be greeted.

Rounding the open door of the stall, the young man's eyes widened and he stopped in his tracks, stunned. The gray Arabian gelding was covered in blood, his mane dried crimson and the dapples on his neck looking like variegated shades of red. The boy raced forward, worry for the animal blossoming in his chest. He gently ran his hands over the creature to find any wounds and was instantly baffled when he found none. How could a horse with no injuries be so covered in blood? Where was his rider? Surely anyone bleeding this badly would have requested assistance.

So consumed was he by tending to the horse that he didn't hear anything else around him.

Turning to fetch a pail of water to wash the horse, he sucked in a sharp breath as a figure materialized in front of him. The brush in his hand fell to the ground, the sound muffled by the soft covering of straw at his feet.

The man's face was covered in blood from the nose down, and it had dried to his neck and shirt. What wasn't covered in blood seemed to thrill with a bitter sort of energy, sending a chill down the boy's spine which was entirely unrelated to the chill in the air.

"Good evening," Klaus spoke conversationally, leaning comfortably against the open stall door and watching the boy like a hawk watches its prey. His hands were bloody as he stood to his full height and his arms fell down at his sides. Stepping forward, he slowly corralled the young man backward until he cowered against the wall of the stall. The boy was stupefied into silence by his fright, grappling at the wall as if intent to climb it.

"I commend you for having the appropriate amount of fear," Klaus spoke again, smiling malevolently as the boy scrambled against the wall as if he hoped to melt into it. Klaus leaned forward with a dark grin. "Some people don't understand what they should really be afraid of."

Suddenly, the pleasantries disappeared and he attacked, sinking his fangs deep into the young man's neck so fast the boy couldn't even cry out in surprise. He was a victim before the thought could cross his mind, his blood staining his shirt as Klaus roughly drank from him. Klaus supported his weight entirely, viciously draining the young man of his lifesblood. There were varying degrees at which a vampire could feed on a human, and Klaus was not intent to go gently.

There was little struggle as the Original vampire overpowered his victim. Only the rustling of the boy's cloak was audible as he flailed his free arm, and even that was muffled by the placid chewing of the Arabian gelding beside them.

As the boy's eyes rolled up into his head and his heartbeat became faint, Klaus reluctantly released his bite and pushed the young man back against the stall, pinning him there with one hand while he wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand. Releasing a pleased sigh, Klaus threw his head back for a moment and breathed in a deep breath before lowering his chin to look at the boy again.

The young man was covered in his own blood which stained the collar of his once-white shirt. The dark cloak he wore disguised the rest of the mess, and Klaus repositioned him so he was leaning weakly against the wall. Straightening the boy's cloak so it covered most of his blood, he took his face in his hands. He could hear the faint fluttering of his heartbeat, and he knew he'd almost killed him in his impetuousness. With a small smile, he guided the boy's face up so he could meet his eyes.

"I know you're feeling weak," he admitted, not caring, "But there is something you must do for me."

* * *

><p>Insistent rapping on the chamber doors roused Elijah from his reading by the fireplace, and he breathed out impatiently through his nose. Carefully closing his book, he set it on the couch as he rose and brushed his hands down his shirt. He'd discarded his jacket in preparation for the night, and he wore only his riding pants, boots, and the fashionably frilled shirt of a French gentleman. His hair was a bit mussed where he'd run his fingers through it while reading, and he absently combed his fingers through it now as he gracefully moved to answer the door.<p>

The knocking quickened, and he frowned slightly. "Yes, I am coming," he insisted, mildly perturbed as he reached for the door handle and turned it.

Before he could pull it open, a weight from the other side shoved it toward him, and he released the handle just in time to catch the dead weight of a body falling. Catching the man in his arms, he pulled him into the chambers quickly and laid him out on a nearby chair, his eyes wide in surprise and dismay as the lad fell back into the seat. He was obviously weak, and his heartbeat flittered dangerously, sounding erratic like a leaf on an autumn breeze.

The young man's eyes were feverish and wide, full of fear as he looked up at Elijah. His mouth worked, but he couldn't seem to form words. Elijah moved toward him, fear and suspicion piquing in his mind, and he leaned forward as the boy motioned for him to come closer.

"Your- your... brother... wants... to wish you... _bon nuit_," the boy managed, wheezing pathetically. He released a weak breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His skin so pale it was translucent in the flickering light of the fireplace.

Frowning openly at the boy's message, Elijah bent over him to feel his forehead, confirming he was sweating profusely. He'd lost too much blood and was going in to shock.

"Nice to see he made it," came a familiar, wry voice from the doorway and Elijah stood upright, turning to glare at his half-brother who was leaning against the frame of the chamber door.

"What have you done to him?" Elijah asked in an accusatory tone, turning away to tend to the boy. "You've almost drained him entirely. So reckless."

Pulling back his sleeve, he bit into his skin and drew his own blood before pressing his wrist against the boy's lips, holding his head firmly until he drank. It took a moment, but the teenager slowly swallowed, his intensity increasing as he received the poultice that strengthened him. After a moment, he was clinging to Elijah's wrist and drinking his blood until the eldest Original pulled away.

The young man looked up at him, his eyes wide as he recognized Klaus who entered the room and shut the door behind him. Fear mobilized the young man, and he sprang up from his seat, scrambling away.

With a perturbed sigh, Elijah moved to him in a flash, his motion nothing more than a blur to the human eye, catching his shoulders in both hands. "You will remember none of this. Clean yourself up and get some rest. You will feel better in the morning," Elijah ordered him, the compulsion penetrating the young man's mind easily.

Nodding obediently, the teenager stood for a moment after Elijah released him before he made his way hastily to the door. As he passed Klaus, Klaus smiled and flicked him dismissively on the shoulder. "Don't forget to clean up my horse," he commented amiably as the boy hastened warily around him and hurried off into the hallway, slamming the door behind him in his haste.

Klaus looked up, a sly expression on his face, as his older brother turned to face him. The irritation was obvious on Elijah's face now, his dark eyes simmering with impatience.

"Is that what you've been doing all evening?" Elijah asked, examining his brother's blood-stained face and shirt with disgust. "The king and queen were quite curious when you neglected to join us on the return ride to the castle. I excused you by assuring them you could make your way back on your own.

"My only question is, how many bodies did you leave in your wake, Niklaus?"

Klaus smiled broadly, a gruesome sight with his lower jaw and neck covered in blood. "What's wrong, brother? Afraid I've mucked up your perfect little plan?" He staggered forward, his hips swaying as he chuckled darkly to himself. He stepped toward Elijah, closing the space between them since Elijah stood stolidly near the fireplace, refusing to move.

Lifting a hand, Klaus pointed into his face, his expression sobering slightly. "I see that look in your eyes, 'Lijah," he noted, his top lip curling slightly as his eyes hardened. "I am nothing but a monster to you, a half-breed... a bastard. I have no purpose."

His tongue hissed the last word viciously, and Elijah narrowed his eyes slightly but he said nothing. Klaus glanced away for a moment as he stabilized himself, his eyes taking on a vacant, lost expression as if he was suffering from an existential crisis. Elijah wouldn't be surprised. He'd been one of his brother's closest companions over the past five centuries. He knew Klaus better than he knew himself most times.

"You're blood-drunk," Elijah noted high-handedly, crossing his arms over his chest as Klaus came out of his daydreams and looked at him again.

"What purpose do I serve in this 'family'?" he asked, making air quotes with his fingers as he ignored Elijah's comment. He was too lost in his inner turmoil stemmed by the queen's barbed words.

Stumbling forward, he caught himself by planting his bloodied hands on the back of one of the chairs. A flash of disgust brushed through Elijah's gut at the cost of cleaning the furniture, but he remained silent as his brother continued.

"I'm just the bastard son, unable to truly claim the name Mikaelson," Klaus rambled on, his jaw setting and his eyes filled with emotion as he looked into his older brother's face.

"You know that isn't true-" Elijah began.

"Isn't it?!" Klaus interrupted him, surging around the chair toward his brother.

"Isn't it?" he repeated brokenly. "What am I to you... Rebekah... Kol? You call me brother but I am not, truly."

"You are as much my brother as Kol," Elijah clarified, drawing himself up in an attempt to combat the emotions threatening to rise up within him. He must keep a cool head. He was not prone to emotional outbursts like his siblings, and only his stolidness could bring Klaus out of this funk.

Klaus smiled mirthlessly and shook his head. "You promise your affections for me, promise I am your brother. Yet I am not if I don't follow your carefully designed plans. I'm a monster leaving bodies in his wake, the bastard brother as a smear on your perfect name." He stumbled forward and Elijah caught him in a flash, his hand strong on the back of Klaus's neck.

Elijah's touch seemed to sober him, and his eyes widened slightly. There was so much pain in his gaze, Elijah could barely bear it. He couldn't imagine what Klaus went through as a result of his parentage. Mikael and Esther were terrible parents to them all, but Klaus's lot had been entirely different. No matter how badly he wanted to, he could never truly alleviate his younger half-brother's pain. He didn't truly understand it. Klaus had at least that much correct.

"You're wrong," Elijah stated firmly, readjusting his grip as Klaus tried to pull away from him.

"You are wrong, brother," he repeated as Klaus fought but was too inebriated by the blood he'd engorged himself on to escape. "Family is a choice, not a curse."

"Mikael doesn't hate you as he hates me, 'Lijah," Klaus slurred, shaking his head and on the verge of tears now that his anger had dissipated. "He turned me in to this. He made me a monster. What else am I?"

Elijah's lips parted and he enacted a breath to calm himself.

"Our father is the monster," he clarified. "He is the one who would hunt his own children, the children he raised from birth. He no longer defines us. We define ourselves by what we choose to become. We choose to be savages or to be kings, Niklaus.

"We're better than what Mikael made us. He may have erected molds with the wreckage of our souls, but the choice is ours to forge our own existence."

Klaus's bottom lip trembled now, and his eyes shined with tears. Before he began to cry, Elijah crushed him in an embrace, allowing Klaus to retain his pride as he cried silently over his older brother's back. Klaus clung to him weakly, his fingers grappling at the silken fabric of Elijah's shirt, and Elijah gently soothed him with a soft 'shh' sound.

"You will always be my brother, Niklaus. Always and forever."


	6. Chapter 6

Anne ran the brush out through her honey-colored hair, watching the golden lamplight shining on it in her reflection in the mirror. The light illuminated her in a dim, sleepy glow and the slow combing through her hair made her drowsy. Her movements stilled and her brush fell gently to her lap as she closed her eyes. Breathing in deeply, her shoulders rising with the movement, she released the breath and relaxed.

Being queen meant she rarely got time alone and moments like this were sacred to her.

As she closed her eyes, her thoughts strayed to the afternoon's events and how she'd allowed her temper to get the best of her. She felt a pang of remorse at the anger she'd seen on Niklaus Mikaelson's face, but she hadn't been given the opportunity to apologize even if she wanted to. Besides, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to. She didn't know what to think of the man. He had been clearly rude to her that day in the garden, and the afternoon horse ride was no different. She'd been sure, for a moment, that she'd angered him enough to touch her. However, in spite of the raging anger in his eyes at her words, he hadn't laid a finger on her. The entire short altercation mildly confused her and made her wonder why she was even reminiscing about it in the first place.

The sound of the door opening behind her was quiet on its hinges, but her eyes opened immediately and she frowned into the mirror as she focused on the chamber entrance.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, milady," Rebekah apologized, stepping halfway in through the door. As the queen recognized her, she smiled and gathered her hair in one hand over her right shoulder.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, her eyebrows raising slightly.

"I'm not sure," Rebekah admitted, glancing briefly out into the main chamber outside the room before looking back at the queen. "There is someone here to see you. She says it's urgent."

Anne frowned and pursed her lips slightly as she set her brush down on the table in front of the mirror. What could be urgent at this time of night?

"I'll be out in a moment," she answered, and Rebekah nodded before closing the door behind her as she departed.

Returning to the main living area of the queen's chambers, Rebekah folded her hands in front of her and gracefully reentered the massive room. The sitting area was filled with various pieces of furniture - two ornate couches, piles of pillows for reclining on the floor, several sitting chairs - and the walls were decorated in fine art which appealed to the queen's taste. Paintings covered the walls except for the floor-length window in the center of the far wall, which lit the room during the day. The ceiling was decorated with hand-carved gold leaves in rows around white painted squares which glowed like jewels when the lamps around the room were lit.

The lamps had been turned down or blown out for the night, casting much of the sitting room in to shadow. As Rebekah arrived, her eyes adjusted instantly to the darkness, and she could see the shape of the young woman sitting alone on one of the couches. Her hands were folded nervously in her lap, and she was staring blankly at the floor. She didn't hear Rebekah's arrival, and the Original vampire was almost upon her before she caught sight of the movement.

Stopping near the end of the couch, Rebekah watched her as the girl looked up. "The queen will be right out," she announced. The young woman nodded in understanding and unfolded her hands just to grasp the fabric of her dress in her fingers. Nervousness rolled off of her like a spooked prey animal and made Rebekah's skin crawl. Curling her lips in distaste, she turned away from the human woman and busied herself with arranging the room.

"So you're the one she replaced me with," the young woman noted, that familiar thread of female jealousy soft in her tone.

Rebekah stood, her back to the girl, and she lifted her chin before half-turning to look at the girl. So this was the girl her brother had defamed in order to get her close to the queen. Admittedly, the girl was pretty enough for Kol's taste, but Kol's taste in women wasn't terribly picky in the first place.

"I suppose," she replied noncommittally, shrugging her shoulders gently as she returned to her task of arranging the room. As a vampire, she needed little sleep and typically stayed up long hours with her brothers. Lately, she'd been staying in the queen's quarters with the other ladies in waiting, but some nights she returned to the familiar comfort of her ancient family. There was a feeling of safety for her in the bond of family. Her brothers would always love her, and unconditional love was something she hungered for. Her terrible upbringing at the hands of Esther and Mikael coupled with the destruction of her trust thanks to Alexander made her depend on her brothers for affection even more. Granted, they weren't all good at expressing their devotion, and she was obstinate in what she wanted. So they had their disagreements and arguments, but they always ultimately knew one another better than anyone else ever could.

"You're beautiful," the girl stated, breaking Rebekah from her thoughts. Raising one eyebrow slightly, she glanced over at the girl again. She didn't have the opportunity to reply before the young woman continued.

"The noblemen will take a liking to you," she added, her tone taking on a warning tone. Rebekah paused now, turning to look at the other woman, her eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity. "Be careful. Their affections can lead to your ruin."

Rebekah almost laughed out loud at the girl's warning, but she smiled softly instead. She certainly had nothing to worry about with a bunch of pompous human men. She could easily shred any of them with a flick of her wrist. They should be careful of her.

However, before she could respond, the door to the queen's bedchamber opened and Anne appeared in the sitting room. Her hair was gathered over one shoulder in a loose braid, hanging against the right side of her neck and leaving her jugular free on the left side. Rebekah turned away hastily as she felt the veins growing hot around her eyes. She hadn't fed for several days, and she hadn't realized how hungry she was until now.

Anne noticed the young woman sitting on the couch almost as quickly as Rebekah had, and her posture stiffened in reaction. Her light eyes hardened and her jaw twitched as she glided forward, her padded feet making no sound on the polished floor.

"My queen," the visitor exclaimed in a quiet voice, standing hastily from her seat to curtsey respectively at the queen's arrival. "I apologize for visiting at such a late hour."

Anne raised her chin slightly so she looked like she was looking down the length of her nose at the other young woman. "What is so urgent that you felt the need to visit me in my chambers at this time of night, Margot?"

Margot shifted her weight, wringing her fingers together in front of her again. Anne stood regally behind the opposite couch, her hands rested comfortably on the back of the seat. Dressed in her nightclothes, with her hair down, she should have looked undignified and underdressed, but she didn't. On the contrary, her regal air hadn't left her, and Rebekah could almost imagine a crown sitting comfortably on top of her honey-colored hair.

"You told me once that you weren't just my queen. You were also my friend," Margot spoke finally, cautiously looking up at the queen as she spoke. Rebekah believed this easily since it was the same promise Anne made to her.

Anne nodded slightly, her expression softening a fraction as she watched the other young woman. Margot read this as her cue to continue.

"I come to you now as a friend in need. Only you can help me, milady," she rambled, taking a slight step forward entreatingly. Anne remained in place, frowning slightly in consternation.

"What is this need?"

Margot swallowed and sighed out through her lips, looking down at the floor before closing her eyes for the briefest of moments. Rebekah could see in the dim light how her cheeks had grown red in embarrassment even before she answered.

"You know well of my... indiscretions," Margot began, seemingly unwilling to delve immediately into the details.

Anne drew herself up and her nostrils flared slightly as she clasped her hands together in front of her. "Your indiscretions took you out of my employ, or have you forgotten?" Her tone was icy now. This was obviously a topic Anne preferred not to discuss.

It was no secret that the upper class did whatever, with whomever, whenever they wanted. Marriage meant nothing. Promises were empty. There was no loyalty where there was sex. Rebekah was wildly adverse to disloyalty, but she wasn't naive.

Margot nodded her head and drew in a deep breath. "I haven't forgotten, my queen," she admitted, breathing out again before continuing into her explanation. "It is the product of my indiscretions that I bring to you, entreating you to help me as only you can.

"I am with child."

The queen seemed dismayed but unsurprised by the news. Apparently, Margot had been with more men than just Rebekah's brother.

"It has been two moons since my time last came," she clarified, wringing her fingers together. "I was with different men at the time it must have happened, and unfortunately, I'm unsure who the father is. Honestly, I don't want to know."

Anne lifted her chin and watched the other young woman with a hard gaze. Rebekah wondered at the queen's iciness but decided to inquire further later.

"You don't want the child beholden to its father," Anne guessed, and Margot nodded in agreement.

"I don't wish for my child to grow up as a bastard. I wish to go to a land where we can live in peace without feeling we owe someone a debt."

The queen finally glanced away, releasing a heavy breath through her nose. Her face was turned away, but Rebekah could hear her heartbeat from across the room. Her heart was beating hard but steadily. She was obviously distressed by this news.

"Will you not owe me a debt for my help?" Anne asked quietly, her face still turned away.

Margot shifted her weight, watching the queen with pleading eyes but Anne wouldn't make eye contact with her. "That's why I came to you. I trust in the vow of friendship you promised me. I trust you, of all, can help me most. I trust in your compassion and your care. I know it's still there even through your anger over my indiscretions."

Anne closed her eyes and dropped her chin, slowly turning back to her former lady-in-waiting before she opened her eyes. "I will speak with the king early tomorrow morning. You can travel to Spain, the land of my birth. You will be safe there, and I will ensure you are taken care of so you can begin your life. After that, your life and the life of your child is your responsibility."

Relief flushed over Margot's face, rolling off of her so powerfully Rebekah could practically smell the endorphins. She danced forward before stopping herself, unsure if she was allowed to entreat the queen, her former friend, as she once would have. "_Merci_, Your Majesty! _Merci beaucoup_!"

Nodding, Anne swallowed and offered the girl a strained smile before Margot turned and hurriedly took her exit. Once she was gone, exhaustion seemed to settle over Anne's shoulders, breaking her posture slightly. She looked older than her years, with tired circles around her eyes, but she remained upright.

Stepping forward, Rebekah walked to her side but didn't touch her, afraid any physical contact may cause her to implode or explode. Rebekah wasn't sure which.

"How benevolent of you, milady."

Anne blinked and looked up as if just realizing she wasn't alone in the room and a nervous smile broke across her face as she shook her head. "Unfortunately, I can't admit my agreement to be entirely selfless," she commented, lifting her hands to lace her fingers together in front of her. Looking down at her hands, she ran her knuckles slowly back and forth across each other as she took a deep breath.

"You see... the indiscretions Margot speaks of were quite prolific. She was a favorite among the noblemen," she pointed out, her shoulders rising and falling gently as she breathed careful breaths in and out.

Lifting her chin, she kept her fingers twined together as she met Rebekah's eye. "My decision to help her is not entirely selfless because it is in her best interest, as well as mine, if the paternity of her child is never known.

"For you see, my husband was one of her many suitors."


	7. Chapter 7

The rustling of satin skirts sounded like the bang of war drums as the queen and her ladies marched down the expansive hallway leading to the king's governmental chambers. There was the formal throne room where the king and queen jointly heard the pleas of their people, but the king had his own web of personal chambers for all sorts of occasions. His sleeping chambers were even more expansive than the queen's, and those rooms fed into a network of rooms for governmental affairs. Every morning, he woke and dressed himself and attended to matters of state within these chambers, and that was directly where Anne was headed.

Her ivory collar rose up around the back of her head like a fan, accentuating her honey-gold hair and the brilliantly glittering coronet nestled into her hair. Her back was high and her posture was impeccable as she gracefully marched through the halls of the palace toward her husband's suites. She was well-aware of his lifestyle, both personal and political, just as she was aware what the people truly thought of him. There were those who adored him, just as all kings are wont to have loyal followers, then there were others who saw him as a child fascinated with fine art and music. This group held little respect to him outside of the contributions he was making toward French culture. However, the first group, those who were undyingly loyal to their liege, was the group she was consistently more worried about. They were far more dangerous in an entirely different way.

Holding her chin up high, she cupped her hands together in front of her corsetted stomach as she turned a corner and entered the elaborately exorbitant halls leading to the king's wing. Flanked by her ladies, Anne looked every bit like a general going to war. She didn't intend to come out of this meeting without what she wanted. She may seem a meek obedient woman in the eyes of the masses, but she was stalwart and powerful when she chose to be.

She was confronting her husband's demons indirectly, and only tact and poise would help her dance around the issue without addressing it head-on. While she imagined Louis knew she was aware of his illicit affairs, they never spoke of it. He was the king of France, and she was merely his wife even if she was royalty with or without his name. She was expected to forgive all of his sins, but that didn't mean she secretly didn't loathe them. She had imagined once that she could grow to love him even if their union had never been based on love. Royalty wasn't expected to love, only to use their bodies and their minds as conduits for peace and unification. Anne wasn't promised love when she was promised to the king of France as his bride. She was promised prosperity and power, but never love. She no longer expected it; she merely played her role as his wife and didn't miss the fantastical idea of love she'd never had.

Of course, she wasn't unhappy. She'd been raised to be a queen, and she fit the role perfectly. Living in a loveless marriage didn't make her existence any less enjoyable. She had wealth and power, and as a girl bred for such things, she didn't balk at them. Maintaining her humanity past all of it had been her true struggle, but she knew what she wanted. Louis offered her enough of what she wanted to satisfy her. Love and affection would only be surplus.

"My lady!" exclaimed one of the Musketeers standing guard near the double doors leading into the king's business chambers. His face lit up with surprise, and he attempted to step in front of her. Everyone knew the king wasn't to be disturbed when he was dealing with affairs of state, not even by the queen.

"Step out of the way, musketeer," she ordered him in a gentle yet firm voice. She sidestepped him as if dancing a dance and slipped to the doors. Thrusting them open, she entered the chamber with her head held high and her hands clasped in front of her.

The interruption caught the attention of all of the men gathered in the state room, standing in lines down the sides of a massive table which would have sat at least twenty people if it was ever used for eating. Instead of being set for a meal, it was covered in parchments and scrolls and a miniature set of armies which covered a quarter of the opposite end from the door. A map of Europe was embellished beneath the toy soldiers, showing troop movements across the continent.

At the other end of the table, the sunlight streaming so powerfully in behind his head that his face was nearly cast into shadow, the king lifted his head and focused on his wife as she entered the room. The other men milled around the corners of the room, excluding the small group huddled on the king's flanks. Cardinal Richelieu was closest to him, as always, and several noblemen filled the ranks on either side. This was 'men's work' as she'd often heard it called, but she thought that was silly. A woman could just as easily push toy soldiers around on a map and worry over whether the kingdom was going to get the appropriate amount of grain for the winter.

"Her Majesty, the queen!" announced one of the royal guards just within the door, standing up straight as the queen came to a halt at the opposite end of the long table from her husband and his political consorts.

The king stood and gazed at her with a mixture of confusion and aggravation. He didn't enjoy being interrupted by anyone, and a woman interrupting a man's business was close to one of the gravest of offenses. "My queen..." he began, brushing his brocade sleeves down to his wrists.

Anne rounded the end of the table and walked toward him, her wide skirt brushing over the legs of noblemen and causing them to shrink out of her way as if they were irrationally afraid they may be swallowed in satin and gold. "Your Majesty, I have a request to make of you. May I have a moment?" she asked. It was more of a command than an actual request, and everyone nearby understood her tone immediately.

Louis's nostrils flared, making him look that an angry weasel with a respiratory problem, and he shook his head as he bent back over the map on the table. "I'm a bit busy with affairs of state, dear. Can this wait?"

Summoning her gentleness and poise, she cocked her head and reached out to brush her fingers over his arm. "It's rather urgent, actually," she admitted, withdrawing her hand. "I need one of your fastest ships to move some cargo of personal interest."

The king sighed and hung his head for a moment before standing and gesturing at the map on the table. "As much as I would love to attend to your personal interests, every ship in the Navy is busy attending to the coastline, protecting our borders," he informed her, running his finger absently along the blue stretch of the English Channel.

"Can you not spare one? It wouldn't be long, and your navy is so very large," she pointed out politely.

Louis shook his head, his curly black mane bouncing around his face. "Not one," he answered, fixing her with a hard look that was meant to silence her from further questioning his authority. "Every ship in the fleet is busy. If it could wait a month or two, then there would be a ship available, but-"

"It can't wait a month. Surely there is some solution? Perhaps a smaller vessel which wouldn't be missed?" She was pressing now, and she could see the vein bulging at the edge of his eye as she pushed the issue. He was reaching the limit of his short patience.

"I've already told you... there are no ships available. Even queens have to wait sometimes," he answered her, his voice taking on a displeased edge. The men nearby didn't step back as etiquette dictated, but rather they leaned in to get a better show of the impending showdown between the two royals.

Anne opened her mouth to argue as politely as she could muster. There had to be a way to solve this problem. Margot couldn't stay here any longer. Soon, her pregnancy would begin to show and the search for paternity start. The queen didn't want that anymore than her former lady did.

"_Mon roi_-" she started, but before Louis's caustic look could cut her off, a lilting English voice interrupted her from the opposite side of the table.

"Perhaps I could be of assistance to Her Majesty."

Anne blinked, surprised that someone was interjecting even if she was aware every man in the room was listening. Looking up, her eyes met the blue eyes of none other than Niklaus Mikaelson. He offered her a winning smile and a glint in his eyes that was not unlike the glint off of a sharp blade.

Drawing herself up as Klaus smirked at her, she breathed in deeply through her nose and raised one eyebrow as Louis straightened beside her. Klaus finally broke their gaze and looked at the king, smiling genteelly at him. Perhaps he was capable of being a gentleman when the mood struck him, she thought irritatedly.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Your Majesties, but I happened to overhear the queen requires a fleet ship," he explained, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly before glancing pointedly back at the queen. "The ships in my merchant fleet are the fastest on the water."

Anne's jaw twitched as she clamped her teeth together, and her light eyes hardened. Even with her own vested interest in getting the pregnant Margot out of the country, she was averse to accepting help from this Englishman. He'd been nothing but rude to her since they'd met, and while she cherished his sister as her friend, she hadn't taken kindly to his presence. Why couldn't he be more like his gentlemanly older brother Lord Elijah, or delightfully irascible like his younger brother Kol? No, instead he was a hot-headed, rude man whom she'd grown unable to tolerate.

Secretly, she realized she was similar to him, and his presence turned her off as a result. She was often impetuous and easily angered, especially when issues got under her skin, and Klaus's presence reminded her of her own shortcomings. He'd made her so angry so easily when he'd confronted her in the woods while on their daytrip, and she didn't like losing control.

Lifting her chin, she offered him a pleasant smile which didn't reach her light blue-green eyes. "I appreciate the offer, _Monsieur_ Niklaus, but I'm sure I can find another alternative." Turning, she departed the room as quickly as she'd entered it, leaving the king behind to shrug apologetically before returning to studying his maps with his advisers.

Returning to the hallway, she dismissed her ladies and stormed off down the hall by herself. She walked until she felt she was entirely alone, wringing her fingers together in front of her as she came to a halt in front of one of the floor-length, embellished windows in the passageway. Quiet settled around her, and her brows creased slightly as she stared out across the sunlit landscape of the gardens and grounds surrounding the castle.

"Are you so unwilling to accept my help that you would risk the spread of the secret you so jealously wish to suppress?"

Klaus's voice made her jump in surprise, and she turned to see him reclining comfortably against the decorative wall on the opposite side of the hallway behind her. Glaring at him, she lifted her nose and sniffed dismissively. "I don't know what you're talking about," she lied, turning back to the window in an attempt to ignore him.

"Yes, you do," he countered. She couldn't hear him stand as she refused to look at him, but she felt his presence as he stepped up behind her left shoulder. It was as if the air around him spread and crackled with his appearance, and she narrowed her eyes to refrain from turning to address him. He hovered beside her without touching her, his closeness doing all the work for him.

"I know all about the little scandal you're trying to cover up," he admitted, lifting his gaze from the pulse on the side of her neck to look out the window. "My sister and I are quite close."

"So it seems," Anne remarked dispassionately. "I believed I could trust Rebekah. I suppose I was wrong."

"No, you were quite right. She's very loyal, to a fault actually," Klaus argued lightly.

"Family above all, however, _oui_?" she threw right back, finally glancing disdainfully over at him. Klaus smiled as he looked at her, not bothering to put space between them although that would be the proper thing to do.

"Don't fault Rebekah. Siblings can be so very insistent when they want to be," he pointed out, reaching out to lean one hand comfortably against the edge of the window. He looked so perfectly at home in the ornate hallway with the sunlight illuminating him in its bright, morning glow. He looked radiant as opposed to the fury she'd seen burning in him only the day before as she'd intentionally spurred his anger with her comments.

"I'm unconcerned with your family's dynamic, Mister Mikaelson. I appreciate your offer of a ship, but I will find another alternative." She turned again to move past him, but he smoothly stepped away from the wall and into her path, blocking her escape.

Fuming, she balled her fists up at her sides and glared up at him as his eyes glinted again. "The Royal Navy has no available ships, and there are no other vessels as swift as those in my personal fleet. You wondered what purpose I serve for my family?" his question held a thread of contempt, and she recognized he had not fully forgiven her for what she'd said the day before.

"I am the master of trade. No manmade ship is faster than mine," he boasted. His words were so sure, she was convinced but turned off by his hubris.

"You are certainly confident," she commented haughtily. Klaus shifted his weight and offered her his smirk once again.

"As well I should be. It's not bragging if it's true," he pointed out cheerily, and the comment would have made her laugh if she wasn't busy actively disliking him.

Rolling her eyes - how unladylike - she sighed and attempted to step around him again, but was blocked once more. "What do you want?" she snapped. Her patience was wearing thin thanks to her stress over Margot's predicament as well as her own. If that girl's child belonged to her husband, that would make the bastard the king's eldest born child. If the child was a boy in addition to that...

Anne had produced no heirs for the king thusfar. She was still young, but people love gossiping more than they love anything else. There were already whispers about her and her lack of child. Of course, no one ever blamed the man for childlessness in situations like this. She was at fault because Louis didn't have a male heir.

"I want you to admit you need my help," Klaus confessed with a knowing smirk. He was so pompous. She wanted to slap him, and in her current state of distress, she almost did. Restraining herself, she snorted lightly.

"I don't need your help. I can help myself," she retorted irritably.

He leaned toward her, and she could smell a sweet, strangely intoxicating scent lingering around him. Her eyes widened slightly as he invaded her personal space, but she didn't retreat. Instead, she met his gaze and stood her ground.

"You don't have a month to rid yourself of this terrible secret," he informed her, as if she didn't already know. "My fleet's speed is unmatched. It seems you have no alternative."

"I will never beg for your help," she declared in a steady voice. "I would rather take the risk and wait than make a deal with you." She wouldn't beg anyone for anything. She was the queen of the most powerful nation in the world.

"I know men like you, monsieur," she continued.

"Is that so?" he asked, obviously amused now. That glint sparked in his eyes again as she drew herself up in front of him.

Nodding, she went on, "I agree to your assistance and will be indebted to you for a lifetime. That is not a bargain I wish to make." She knew the type well. Nobles too commonly used blackmail and bribery to elevate themselves through society. She didn't intend to be used such a way.

"That choice is yours, Your Majesty," Klaus replied amusedly, leaning toward her once again. He invaded her space, enveloping her with that sweet scent again which piqued the senses in the back of her mind and made goosebumps erupt over her arms. His eyelids lowered, and he glanced at her lips. She knew she should slap him for inappropriately invading her space, but she couldn't work up the strength to do so.

"Good day, my queen," he spoke, his words cresting warmly onto her face just before he turned and smoothly walked away from her, leaving her to fume silently in the hallway.


	8. Chapter 8

Rebekah was angry.

Storming through the family's common rooms, she marched straight to Klaus's room and threw open the door. Awaking violently from his sleep, he sat up groggily in bed and squinted at her as she advanced on him across the room.

"You fool!" she cried grabbing the first available object she could find, intent on throwing it at him. Water spilled out of the expensive porcelain vase, followed closely behind by the seven white lillies inside, dumping onto the floor in a mess that Rebekah ignored. Heaving the vase, she sent it flying at her brother's head. He ducked out of the way at the last moment, and the vase crashed into a thousand pieces which sprayed out across the headboard of the bed in a porcelain shower.

Glancing around as he sat up and assessed the damage, Klaus turned to look at her as if she was insane. "What evil spirit has crawled up within you and died, Bekah?" he asked, scrambling out of bed as her jaw set and she reached for another weapon.

"You're an arse and an idiot!" she exclaimed vehemently, lifting her hand to launch her second projectile at him.

His vampspeed brought him to her in the blink of an eye, and he caught her wrist before she could throw the light fixture she'd wrenched off the wall. Klaus's eyes hardened and he twisted her wrist, causing her to drop her makeshift weapon with a mild cry of indignation.

"What..." he began, driving her backward so he had her pinned powerfully against the wall, "Is wrong with you?"

Rebekah fought against him, baring her teeth at him in anger. She was so riled up, she could barely form words and he glared daggers at her.

"What in heaven's name is going on?!" Elijah exclaimed, rushing in through the wide open doors of the room. Glancing around, he noticed the showdown between his younger siblings, and he frowned as he crossed the room toward them.

"Rebekah has lost her mind," Klaus answered, earning an irritable chuffing of displeasure from their sister.

"I haven't lost my mind," she countered him, her voice tight as it became when she was angriest. "You've nearly ruined everything with your inability to keep your mouth shut."  
>"Rebekah..." Elijah began, always the mediator. She shot him a threatening look, and he backed down, shutting his mouth and pursing his lips as she returned her angry gaze to Klaus.<p>

"You told the queen I told you about the girl," she snapped finally, and Klaus relaxed, releasing his hold against her so she slumped against the wall but didn't cease glaring at him.

"She guessed," he clarified, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally as he stepped back.

Her blue eyes grew wide, silently ridiculing him. "She guessed? How could she have simply 'guessed'? That's the most ridiculous of your excuses I've ever heard."

His jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together and whirled to glare at her. "The woman hates me. I had to find a way to force her hand."

"By making her hate you more? By driving her to hate us both?" Rebekah rebuked him angrily, stomping her foot to emphasize her point. She turned to entreat Elijah.

"His loose tongue could lose the queen's trust in me," she informed her eldest brother. "In turn, that could ruin our entire plan to blend in and make peace here." She turned accusing eyes on Klaus who rolled his eyes as his back was turned to both of them.

Before Elijah could lecture him about recklessness or his unwillingness to perform for the betterment of their family, he turned and planted his hands on his hips where the top hem of his loose-fitted sleep pants rested against his bare skin. "I have done no such thing. On the contrary, I was doing precisely what Elijah wanted me to do."

Rebekah looked at Elijah again, prepared to accuse him for his hand in the incident, but he shook his head and narrowed his eyes in obvious perplexion. "Antagonizing the queen is certainly not among the items we've discussed," the eldest Mikaelson sibling pointed out in a business-like tone.

"You've said it yourself, brother: we must blend in here if we ever hope to stop running and permanently settle in France. As the tradesman of the family, I am obliged to make the best alliances for our family's well-being."

"So enraging the queen was your idea of forming valuable alliances?" Elijah asked flippantly. Klaus glared at him in response.

"Of course not. I merely intended to show her how she needs us, our family. Only we can be trusted with the greatest of her secrets. That trust leads to much greater rewards in the future," Klaus pointed out, almost wistfully.

"We're to believe the queen didn't hurt your feelings last week, and you're not acting out as a result?" Rebekah spat confrontationally at him, earning herself his caustic glare. His eyes lit up with warning. They didn't talk about incidents like that one; it was silently forbidden among them.

Klaus's top lip curled slightly in a half-snarl, and Elijah took the moment to step up between them, his hand gently pressing into Klaus's chest. "Brother, dress yourself. Rebekah, breathe and calm down."

Each of them hesitated for a moment, threatening to rebel, but thought better of it. Turning, Klaus stalked off across the room to his armoire to fetch himself a fresh shirt. Rebekah crossed her arms over her chest and huffed silently as she stared at the wall. Sighing, Elijah turned toward her as Klaus dressed.

"Niklaus is right, Rebekah," he spoke, his tone gentle as it always was when he knew she was going to disagree with him.

Her blue eyes were like fire as she turned to look up at him angrily. As she opened her mouth to argue, he held up a hand to silence her as he continued.

"There is a reason we wanted you to become one of Queen Anne's ladies," he explained, folding one hand behind his back and gesturing with his free hand as he watched his sister's face. "Allying with the queen gives us much protection here. Of course, the king's favor on us is very helpful..."

"While the king may rule their minds, the queen rules their hearts," Rebekah finished for him.

Elijah's lips twitched, threatening a smile, and he lifted his chin as he appraised her appreciatively. "Not exactly what I was going to say, but well-put, dear sister."

Rebekah's pride was obvious in her eyes as Elijah praised her, and she relaxed her arms to her sides. "She was upset that I didn't keep her secret, but she claimed she understood. She understands how insistent brothers can be."

Rebekah said it as a barb, but the comment caught Klaus's attention and he raised his head in recognition as he pulled his shirt on one arm at the time. Inspite of her persistence in disliking him, his words had gotten through to the queen when he'd corralled her in the hallway the day before. A smirk slowly spread its way across his lips as he laced his shirt up beneath his chin. It seemed he'd won that argument moreso than he'd believed.

"The queen has invited us to the Masquerade Ball tomorrow evening. I suppose we must prove we can still be trusted," Rebekah added, flattening her dress over her waist as she cast a judging look at Klaus's back.

"We will all attend, of course," Elijah answered her, reaching out to gently run his hand to her elbow in a calming guesture. Seeing his comforting smile, Rebekah allowed herself to smile softly up at him.

"I'll let her know we'll all be in attendance, and hopefully, all of us will be able to behave," she replied, her last comment obviously intended for Klaus who kept his back to them both as they departed the room.


	9. Chapter 9

The weekend had arrived, and the queen was no less at a loss for a solution to her problem. Outwardly, she seemed unperturbed and emotionless. On the inside, she felt like a churning tempest ready to explode at any moment. The entire royal fleet was preoccupied settling skirmishes along the northwestern borders of the country, and every merchant with a ship available had no space for extra passengers. She'd never known acquiring a vessel for transport would be so difficult, especially for the queen herself. However, short of tying Margot on the helm of a boat like some sort of living figurehead, she was out of options and time.

Sighing audibly, she hung her head and gave herself a moment to breathe. Counting slowly to ten, Anne lifted her head and stared defiantly at her reflection. She was the queen of France. She would find a solution, and she wouldn't rest until she did.

Carefully, she lifted her crown to her head and rested it firmly on her honey-colored hair. She had a wide variety of crowns fashioned for her, and this one was unlike the others. It was dark, almost as if made out of wrought iron, with dark blue sapphires hanging within cages made from the dark metal. The entire crown was only a few inches high and looked especially dark, seated atop her honey hair.

Her dress was tailor-made for the occasion, designed from a midnight blue tafetta which stood out from her hips like a bell. The neckline was wideset on her shoulders, curving smoothly across her chest so as to reveal just the appropriate amount of skin without being indecent. Pearls bedecked the exquisite bodice of the dress, cascading like a waterfall around her chest and down to her waist. The collar was wide and stiff, situated around her neck like a horizontal fan decorated with handwoven thread patterns in the shape of silver leaves. Her sleeves poofed up over her shoulders, slimming until they reached her wrists. The double-layered sleeves were weighty, but it was a weight she could easily bear.

The entire weight of the dress was probably twenty pounds on its own, but the queen wore it effortlessly. Her body was designed for this sort of apparel. She'd been bred for this life, and as the queen, she couldn't escape it even if she'd wanted to.

Tilting her head forward, she clasped a pearl necklace around her neck, straightening the sapphire pendant at the base of her throat. Standing from her seat in front of the mirror, the dress crinkled and cascaded down to the floor, sounding like the crackling of a hundred fireplaces. Marching to the door, she paused at the threshold and gathered her mask - a midnight blue affair bedecked with sparkling gemstones and curling iron-like decorations around the edges - resting it carefully over her eyes before leaving the room.

Her ladies were standing ready in the common room, each of them dressed accordingly to the evening with their masks fixed over their faces, and Anne cast a smile across the group. Each of them complimented her appearance, and she graciously accepted the compliments before offering praise of her own. She truly did consider them her friends. Without their companionship, she would be very much alone.

Noticing Rebekah near the back of the group, she made a point to smile acceptingly at the blond. She'd been perturbed by her altercation with the girl's older brother days before, but that reflected little on Rebekah. She'd reminded herself of that fact since. Niklaus Mikaelson's behavior had nothing to do with his sister. Beckoning Rebekah forward through the group of titillating young women, she laced her arm through Rebekah's as the girl watched her curiously.

"No need to keep your distance, Rebekah," the queen informed her with a pleasant smile. "I've forgiven you."

Rebekah's relieved smile was genuine, and she gently squeezed Anne's arm with her own. Relief surged through her. Nik may want to anger the queen, but she didn't. She was quite enjoying her place here, and she was fitting in nicely. She didn't want to leave simply because he was a beast who couldn't control his tongue.

"Thank you, Anne," she replied, smiling once more before the queen released her arm and led the way from the chamber.

In the hallway beyond, a group of men were standing talking among themselves. As the queen arrived, they straightened and formed themselves into a line, and Rebekah was able to recognize they were musketeers. Their uniforms were clean and impeccable, and their formal hats rested on their heads. Feathers sprouted from the left side of each of their hats, and their masks for the occasion were simple black, leather. They were participating, but the message remained clear that they were the protection for the royal family.

Casting her eyes across the lot of them, Rebekah cursorily examined them with no specific intent. However, halfway down the line, she stopped as she realized one of the musketeers was watching her. His dark eyes met hers and he lifted his head slightly so his eyes caught the light in the hallway. She recognized him even with his mask on, realizing he was the same musketeer she'd seen in the gardens when she'd first joined the queen's ladies. This time, he didn't glance away as she caught him watching her, and she raised an eyebrow as she stared him down. A smirk curved the left side of his mouth, making his moustache curl in a contagious grin.

Rebekah knew she should disapprove of him watching her, as any well-behaved lady would, but she was not like the other girls in this group. Raising one eyebrow, she lifted her chin and broke their gaze as the king's voice caught her attention from several yards down the hallway.

"Ma belle!" Louis cried, obviously already having partaken of the spirits available for the night, as he marched toward his wife. Anne stiffened inwardly at the sight of him, but her face didn't give her away. She was also grateful to her mask for hiding most of her face.

"Mon roi," she greeted him genteely in return, holding out her hand for him to kiss as he arrived. Louis smiled broadly at her and offered her his arm before glancing around behind her at the ladies congregated nearby. Her stomach tightened and coiled like a snake hissing and ready to strike, but she kept her pleasant smile on her face. She was well-aware of the king's wandering gaze, and she reminded herself she didn't care. It wasn't as if he could replace her. She was the queen of France.

"You look... formidable, dear," Louis intoned, turning his attention back to her as he placed his hand over hers where it rested on his forearm. The touch was as political as it was endearing, and she raised her eyebrows. The expression was hidden by the midnight blue mask covering the upper half of her face, and she smiled proudly at his comment. Perhaps he hadn't meant it as a compliment, but she certainly took it that way. Beauty was one nice. Indomitability was immortal.

"Merci," she answered him, knowing he was merely making polite conversation.

"You look every bit the king you are as well," she added. Louis took it as a compliment, evident by the way he drew himself up and his face puckered so he looked like an overjoyed ferret. The comment was actually a subtle barb, but he was too dense to realize as much, so she allowed him to believe whatever he chose to believe. Their relationship may not be romantic, but it was peaceful and that was important.

"I was disappointed by the absence of all of your naval ships," she admitted as he led her around a corner with her arm still laced through his. The procession of ladies and musketeers walked in two lines behind them, silence ruling over them as they walked in couples and allowed the king and queen to talk without interruption.

Louis's ears turned red as Anne paused, but she continued before he could reply angrily. "But I understand it is no fault of your own, my king," she noted, soothing his ego as only she knew best. Raising her eyebrows slightly, she bent her free arm and rested her free hand over the hand she had resting in the crook of his elbow. "A king with your power would surely do whatever he could for his queen, if there was anything he could do. Protecting our country is certainly the most important priority on your plate."

She was stoking his ego until she was afraid his head might burst, but it pleased him. While she'd always hated empty praise, she knew how her husband got on evenings like this one. Parties went to his head. He would carouse until the wee hours of the morning, with one woman or another; sometimes groups of them. Imagining such a thing sickened her, not because she was jealous but simply because she couldn't find it within herself to be so enamored with his presence as to want to give herself to him for hours at the time, and she pushed the thoughts away. If Louis was happy, then he would leave her alone and she wouldn't have to deal with him attempting to produce an heir with her. When he came to her, she wanted it to be in her time. The few nights they had spent together sexually were few and far between, and she was selfishly willing to give him space to have his affairs if it meant she was free of him. She knew she was a terrible wife for resisting - any good queen would willingly accept her husband into her chambers and wish to spend hours making love to him - but she tolerated him for short periods of time only. Eventually, she would produce an heir for him, but tonight was not that night.

The idea that Margot's child could belong to him didn't help matters any. She was turned off at the idea and desire for him to touch her had long fled. She'd never had an affair of her own although her husband was unfaithful. Revenge sex had never appealed to her either. She would rather be alone than act through an emotion instigated by someone else. She preferred all of her actions to be hers and hers alone, free from outside persuasion.

After several yards of silence with Louis practically bouncing in his own glow beside her, they finally reached the grand double doors leading into the ballroom. Music and light poured through the miniscule gap between the doors, and Anne felt excitement bubble up from the pit of her stomach into her chest. Her heart trilled excitedly, and she didn't resist the smile that lit her face. She truly did love parties.

The guards at the door each grasped an ornate handle and tugged the doors open, releasing the light and sound over the royal couple and their escorts. The gaiety from inside washed over her as Louis led her inside, and she allowed herself a moment to marvel at the beauty of the place. Servants had transformed the massive ballroom at her behest, and it glittered magically. The tone was entrancing, and she was thankful her mask covered her cheeks so no one nearby could see the excited flush of her cheeks. The child within her wanted to dance in glee at how beautiful the place was, but she refrained by dropping her gaze as a powerful, booming voice announced the arrival of the king and queen.

Everyone on either side of the aisle bowed from the waist, dropping their heads as the ruling couple swept gracefully past them. For a moment, Anne realized she saw more of the tops of her subjects' heads than she saw their faces. The thought was momentarily amusing, thanks to the light mood in the ballroom, and she stifled a giggle by biting down hard on her bottom lip.

"Let the festivities begin!" Louis cried, releasing her arm to throw his gloved hands in the air. The crowd rose in unison and cheered. Some ladies even threw their fans and the music began once more.

Louis chuckled, pleased with himself and the occasion, his dark eyes cast across the open dancing floor to a gaggle of noble ladies clustered along the far wall with their husbands. Looking up at him, Anne recognized the hungry glint in his eyes, and she ground her teeth together as he began smiling slightly. Attempting to cover his licentious intent, he leaned toward her and kissed her on her cheek just below the curve of her mask. She wanted to sniff in disgust at the wet touch of his lips, but she resisted.

"Have a wonderful evening, dear," he told her, squeezing her hand. "Save me a dance. I have some... business matters to attend."

Lifting her chin, she offered him an insincere smile, but he was too busy trying to escape to get to his baser pleasures to worry about her reaction. While part of her, the loyal wife everyone believed her to be, felt a pang of pain at his hurry to get away from her, the larger part of her was relieved.

She still had the issue with Margot to take care of, and she couldn't do so with Louis lingering all night. She rarely danced at these affairs anyway, so 'saving' a dance for him wouldn't be hard. Eventually, they would dance to show the country (those assembled anyway) how very much in love they were, even if it was all just for show. For now, she was free to mingle with her guests and to enjoy the beauty of the party she'd arranged.

Glancing away from the direction Louis had disappeared, she scanned the crowd. Everyone was wearing masks, as they were instructed to, so it was a bit difficult to recognize anyone. That didn't deter her, however. She had plenty of time on her hands.

"Bonjour, madame."

The voice was instantly recognizable, and it instantly curdled her blood. Slowly, she turned her head until she was looking directly at none other than the one man she couldn't seem to shake off even when she tried.


	10. Chapter 10

"Lord Niklaus," she stated flatly, attempting to sound as disinterested as she felt. "I suppose I should have guessed you would be here. Everyone in the parrish was invited, after all."

He smiled, a dark light glinting in his eyes behind the black mask he wore over the top half of his face. The mask was matte black and curved viciously around his eyes. As he turned his head, the mask threw an optical illusion that made it look as if horns curved out of his temples, but when he turned back to look at her, Anne was convinced she'd only imagined it. His entire outfit was black, even the lace of his shirt which emerged through the neckline of his dresscoat.

"Are you still so unwilling for my company?" he asked her, the words sounding irritated although he was still smiling.

She raised her eyebrows, but knowing he couldn't see the expression, she lifted her chin for added emphasis. "I simply wonder why you are so intent for mine."

He shifted his weight which inexplicably brought him closer to her until his presence was like pressure against her right shoulder even though he didn't touch her. He simply seemed to hover there, taunting her with his presence.

"Call me curious," he amended, crossing his hands in front of himself and rolling his shoulders back as he straightened and looked out across the dancefloor.

She knew why he was here. There could only be one reason. He wanted to goad her again, and it perturbed her. He knew she was desperate for an answer to her predicament, and he knew she had no other options. It wasn't that she hadn't tried. She'd searched everywhere within the city for an available ship. There was simply nothing available.

And she couldn't wait a month.

The crooked smirk on Klaus's face made her wonder for a moment if he could read her mind. She pointedly looked away from him and glared across the dancefloor, resisting the urge to entertain him with her attention.

"Your silence confirms my suspicions," he noted, rocking forward onto his toes and back to his heels as if attempting to contain his glee over her situation.

"There's only one reason why you're here, Mister Mikaelson," she snapped in a low voice, turning to glare at him. She purposely ignored his goads, knowing he was trying to aggravate her. She wouldn't give in even if he'd unintentionally succeeded already.

"Is that so?" he asked, feigning innocence.

Drawing herself up, she looked down her nose at him, the jewels on her black crown dancing in the gleaming lights above them. "I've already informed you before: I am well-acquainted with your kind. You know I'm at a loss and have nowhere else to turn."

She hated to admit it, but there was no point lying about it. If her former lady-in-waiting wasn't evacuated soon, then the entire show would be over. She had no more time to play coy or to toy with her own pride.

"So what is it that you want? What measure of eternal servitude do you intend to reduce me to in return for your benevolent assistance?" Her tone was mocking and disdainful, sharper than anyone had ever heard her. There was no one near enough to hear her besides him, and she didn't care what this man thought of her.

Klaus smiled just as the crowd around them began clapping, signaling the end of a song. Dancers poured from the floor, leaving it wide open and ready for the next number. Anne glared up at him, impatiently awaiting his terms, and his smirk enraged her. Once again she found herself wondering how satisfactory it would feel to smack him across his needlessly handsome face.

"A dance," he answered finally, leaning toward her slightly as he said it.

The comment caught her off guard, confusing her. Furrowing her brow, she shook her head slightly and drew her chin back as she looked at him in consternation.

"A dance?" she repeated in disbelief.

"_Oui_," he answered, glancing toward the dancefloor and then back to her, cocking his head slightly. "Share one dance with me, and I will give you one of my ships: any of my ships you desire."

Anne narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. This was too good to be true. One dance was all she had to trade for the answer to her predicament? That didn't sound right.

However, Klaus shifted his weight and offered her his hand, sensing she didn't trust him enough to link her arm through his elbow. They weren't friends, after all.

Still watching him doubtfully, she slowly rested her gloved hand in his, touching him with the least amount of pressure possible. "One dance, and then we're done," she clarified, wanting to hear the confirmation from his lips again.

He nodded as they stepped out onto the floor, and he led her to the center so they were positioned beneath the massive, glittering chandelier above. Turning toward her, he offered her his hands in an impeccable stance, and she warily accepted by slipping her hands into his and straightening her back. Distantly, she noticed no one bothered to join them on the floor as the orchestra began the first bars of the musical number, but she was too focused on watching him like a hawk to register the fact that they were the only pair on the dancefloor.

"The only catch is..." he began, his voice dropping low as he suddenly dropped his right hand and tugged her toward him, surprising her and breaking her poise for a moment so she stumbled a step forward and was suddenly held against him with her other hand twisted up behind her back so she couldn't escape. "You have to keep up."

Her light blue-green eyes lit up with the challenge, and she ground her teeth together. She was the best dancer in all of France. "I am the queen of France, _monsieur_," she pointed out proudly as he pulled against her hands, leading her backward in a smooth step which matched the growing tempo of the music. "Perhaps it is you who will have to keep up with me."

Suddenly, the dance was less of a dance between business partners and more of a competition. She could feel it in the way his body tensed for battle, and her own spine went rigid. Every movement became precise and calculated, slipping into graceful perfection with the music.

The song began simple enough but quickly built to triple time, and the heart-pounding music filled her ears along with the rush of blood into her head. The angry rustling of her tafetta dress was drowned out by the music and their movements, defeated by the precision maneuvers of her slender legs.

He untwisted her arm and spun her away from him, giving her the freedom to tear her hand from his as she reached the full length of her arm. Straightening to her full height, her now-free hand cut downward and her fingers grasped the heavy midnight blue fabric of her skirt, bunching it in the fist of her hand. Lifting it so her feet were offered more space, she turned her back to him and instantly felt the heat of his chest almost pressed against her shoulder blades. The width of the curvature of her collar around her neck was the only distance between them as he arrived behind her, leaving only three inches at best.

_How inappropriate_, her brain distantly told her, reminding her of her life-long training to be a lady. But the wilder, impetuous side of her stamped her reason back. She had to win. This dance was more than just a dance. This was every bit a challenge which must be won.

Klaus's fingers ran down the inside of her arm, starting at her elbow, and she turned her head, staring unseeing at the floor past the tips of her fingers. She could feel the trails of his fingers beneath her glove as if he was burning her bare skin, and she glared angrily at the floor as he laced his fingers around her hand, imprisoning it.

He spun her then, his strength surprising her, but she took it in stride and tilted her head back to relieve the pressure between her eyes as she spun. Her dark blue dress became a tempest of motion in the center of the massive dancefloor, turning her into a spiraling storm of midnight blue and iron. Dipping her chin, she intentionally slowed the spin, silently communicating that he had not won.

Coming to a stop in time with the fast-paced music, she met Klaus's gaze and saw the fiery light of irritation there. A smirk passed over her lips now, a mischievous look few had ever seen. He would not win this war without a fight.

Determined, Klaus grabbed her hands and thrust her away from him so she was at arms-length before he tugged her back in an equally graceful motion, spinning her as he did so her back was against his chest again. Her arms were crossed in front of her now, preventing her escape, and she glared behind her mask. The statement was clear: this moment was his victory.

The music built to a wild tempo, matching the erratic beating of her heart and the insistence which simmered beneath the surface of her skin. She'd never felt so on-edge, so invigorated and simultaneously agitated. She felt alive, but it was coupled with a driving desire to be victorious.

Sensing the crescendo of the song, she took advantage of his momentary hubris to spin away from him again. Halting herself as the instruments released their victory cry, she threw her arms in a graceful arch above her her and tossed her head back, her back arching and her dress pooling around her to consume the floor at her feet. She was no longer imagining specified dance moves she'd been taught as a young girl, but her body moved on its own in the way it found appropriate.

Suddenly, she felt pressure against the small of her back, and her head fell back toward the floor until her curls brushed the taffeta on the train of her dress. Instinctively, she grasped for support, momentarily afraid she was falling. The fingers of her right hand clasped around the silken fabric of Klaus's handwoven coat as her left arm draped perfectly along the back of his shoulders as she reacted to balance herself.

Her head was back and she didn't realize her eyes were closed until she noticed the music had stopped and the gathered crowd was clapping wildly. Her eyes flew open and she surged upward, unintentionally falling into Klaus's arms as he still had his arm around her back to support her. The din of the clapping onlookers deafened her in the wake of the dance, and her chest rose and fell rapidly as the adrenaline began to fade. Her lips parted as she looked up at him, confusedly enraptured in a moment with this man she'd convinced herself she despised.

They were standing too close. They were staring at each other for too long. Her breaths were coming too fast. Her heart was beating too quickly.

Her brain screamed all of the inappropriate behaviors she was exhibiting, but her knees felt like pudding at the thought of pulling away from him. He watched her with his glinting blue eyes, captivating her. The moment seemed to drag on forever, and her cheeks flushed beneath her mask, whether from the exertion of the dance or something else, she wasn't sure.

"_Merci_, my queen," he spoke suddenly, breaking the moment with the chilled snap of his voice. "A ship will be waiting for you in the morning."

With that, he released her and practically pushed her away from him, turning her so she was facing the people rimming the dancefloor who were still clapping in appreciation for the dance they'd just witnessed.

Anne recovered in a moment, her training and poise returning to support her in the blink of an eye. She was accustomed to disguising emotion with aplomb, and the habit returned to her like an old friend through the haze of her confusion. Feeling as if a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped over her head, she forced a brilliant smile onto her face and curtseyed in appreciation for the applause.

The crowd parted and spit out the king who was clapping his hands and advancing toward her with a wide grin on his pinched face. She examined his expression for any sign of displeasure, but there was none. Glancing to her side, she realized she was alone on the dancefloor, her partner having disappeared without a sound.

Klaus's departure lit a fire of irritation within her, anger replacing the confused jumble of emotions she'd felt as their dance ended and she'd hung in his grasp. It was much easier to be irritated with him than to sort through some ridiculous sensations which had only been extracted by the adrenaline of dancing. She was being silly to even imagine such an animalistic notion, and she shook her head slightly before returning to reality and offering the king a smile as he arrived.

Louis took her hand, pulling her against his side to praise her for her performance. She recalled nothing of what he said, but she smiled pleasantly for the crowd until they dispersed and the music started back up.

"May I have this dance?" Louis asked, offering his hand and grinning drunkenly.

Politely shying away from him, she gave him a sweet smile and gently folded his fingers in to his palm and away from her. "I'm quite tired, Louis," she replied, using his first name in an attempt to render endearment from him. It worked as he smiled childishly at her.

"Please, offer my dance to another young lady who could better use it," she implored him, gently pushing him off toward the court women who would be overjoyed to share a dance with the king.

As for the queen, she felt drained and in need of some fresh air.


	11. Chapter 11

Narrowing her eyes as she watched her older brother and the queen in the middle of the dancefloor, Rebekah glanced sideways through the crowd looking for Elijah. Everyone congregated near the edge of the floor, riveted on Klaus dancing with the queen as if they'd never seen two people dance together before. Preoccupied as they were, it was easy enough for her to find her oldest brother standing several yards away.

Cutting her gaze back to Klaus's show, she glared after them for a moment before a small, dark smirk curled the side of her mouth. She was still miffed with him for spoiling the queen's secret for his own gain, but now she had a plan to get even with him. Nik was always winning these petty little arguments between them, but not this time.

Slipping gracefully through the crowd as everyone was thoroughly distracted by the queen and her dancing partner, Rebekah arrived beside Elijah, a soft smile on her lips. Her golden mask made her hair look like polished gold and accentuated her blue eyes. Her tulle dress was wide and fluffy, the pale blue reminiscent of the afternoon sky and the blue of her eyes. She looked like she was floating on a cloud as she arrived at her eldest brother's side, her hands resting comfortably intertwined in front of her.

"They dance exquisitely," she commented quietly, and Elijah smiled as he nodded in agreement.

"For all of his recalcitrance, Niklaus does fit in nicely into society when he puts forth an effort," Elijah agreed, lifting the glass of wine in his hand to his lips.

"Mayhap he is fitting in... too well," she added, raising her eyebrows slightly. Her golden mask covered only her eyes so her eyebrows lifted above the gilded edge and exaggerated her expression even more.

A crease formed between Elijah's eyebrows for a moment, but a wry smile settled on his face. "You sound almost envious, sister," he commented, glancing away from the dancers to look down at her before he took another sip of his drink.

She half-laughed, half-snorted and looked away from him as she shrugged her left shoulder upward. "I wouldn't say I'm envious..."

"I would," Kol commented as he arrived behind her, leaning his head over her shoulder and taunting her before moving to her other side. Elijah watched him for a moment, most likely assessing his condition for anything out of order, and then looked away when all appeared in line.

Rebekah glared openly at her brother, the heat in her glare toned down by the golden mask over her eyes, and Kol ignored her as he grinned broadly. He held a glass filled with a dark liquid, and as she drew in a breath through her nose, she realized he was drinking blood from a wine glass.

"You're jealous you're not the center of attention, Bekah," Kol clarified, looking over at her as he took a deep sip from his glass of blood. She sneered as she looked at his drink and then up into his eyes. He irascibly smirked at her as he licked his lips and held the glass out to offer her a drink. Holding up a hand, she drew her chin back and turned her face away from him. Like always, Kol showed up at precisely the wrong time to mess up her plans.

Leaning closer to Elijah, she ignored Kol and entreated their oldest brother. "This has nothing to do with how I feel," she clarified sharply with a slight shake of her head which made the curls pinned to the back of her head bounce. "Rather, it seems to have everything to do with how Nik feels."

Elijah frowned again, clearly not following her line of thought. Before she lost him in his confusion, she continued, glancing pointedly toward the dancefloor as the song abruptly came to a finish. Klaus's arm was around the queen's back as he dipped her to the floor, her arms wrapped around him in a familiar way that was quite unbecoming in polite company. Elijah lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes as the dancers stood and stared at one another for a long, charged moment. Rebekah smiled; this was going to be easier than she'd thought.

"Has Nik taken a liking to the queen?" Kol asked, his voice lilting playfully behind her. She wondered if he was playing along with her, or if he was merely being his characteristically irascible self. Either way, his commentary was helping her plan so she didn't shush him.

Elijah breathed out an audible sigh through his nose as Klaus disappeared through the crowd and the king greeted the queen where she stood alone on the dancefloor. Rebekah didn't know what was going through her oldest brother's brain, so she decided to feed his doubt more.

Shrugging her shoulders upward slightly, Rebekah pursed her lips and ran the tips of her fingers on her left hand over the tip of her right thumb as if she was deep in thought. "It could be nothing... but he does love a challenge," she noted conversationally. Behind her right shoulder, Kol nodded in agreement and tilted the rest of his glass upward so he could down the rest of his blood drink.

"Nik loves nothing better than a challenge," he added, and Rebekah recognized the helpful tone in his voice. She didn't know why, but Kol was playing along with her game.

Ignoring her skepticism about Kol's intentions, she looked back at Elijah as he watched the queen leave the ballroom by herself. "Perhaps our brother's umbrage with the queen is not so based on dislike but on something... else," Rebekah finished, her eyebrows raised pointedly.

Elijah glanced at her, and she noticed the light of comprehension in his eyes. A soft smile teased at the corner of her mouth, so she pursed her lips again and feigned a worried look as she met her brother's gaze.

"If Niklaus has become infatuated with the queen, then that could certainly pose a threat to our peaceful existence here," Elijah commented, and Rebekah resisted dancing in glee as he caught on to the thread where she was leading him. She nodded vigorously and Kol stepped up between them to rest his arm across Elijah's shoulders as he leaned in conspiratorially.

"What ever will we do?!" he asked incredulously, biting his bottom lip. Rebekah stifled the urge to giggle by glaring at Kol. His overacting could spoil their entire ploy, but Elijah seemed too distracted to notice.

"Something must certainly be done," Elijah confirmed, raising his gaze from where he'd been staring thoughtfully into the flowing fabric of Rebekah's skirt at his feet. Looking from one of them to the other, he nodded slightly as if he'd come to a conclusion. "I'm only sorry I hadn't noticed this before."

Distractedly, he extricated himself from Kol's arm and turned, excusing himself politely before leaving the ballroom. The two remaining siblings stood together as they watched him disappear through the double door entry before Rebekah turned to Kol and fixed him with a hard look. When he turned to meet her eyes, a half-smirk had turned his face into its characteristic mischievous mask.

"What are you doing?" she asked him suspiciously, planting her hands on her hips.

"Don't get so defensive, dear sister," he replied, absently handing his empty glass to a passing servant before he turned back to smile at her. "If you plan to make Nik's life a living hell, then I want a part of the action."

She raised her chin and examined him down the length of her nose. "I don't want to make his life a living hell... I just want to repay him for making the queen angry with me."

Kol chuckled and stepped toward her, leaning in and dipping his head so he was looking at her out of the top of his dark eyes. Reaching out, he snatched her elbow in his hand and smirked knowingly at her. "You can be a spiteful thing, sister. You should enjoy it instead of resisting it." His eyebrows raised suggestively before he released her and pulled out his sleeves, straightening them down to his wrists.

"I am a lady," she argued dispassionately, unwillingly accepting he was right. She did want to spite her older brother, and she didn't feel remorseful about it. Klaus was always interfering in her life. She felt he was due with a little interference from her to make them even.

A dark smile spread over her lips, mirroring Kol's. He was a devil, but he was right. She would enjoy this.


	12. Chapter 12

The Original sister was filled with a sensation akin to victoriousness as she stood alone in the adrenalized crowd filling the ballroom. Kol had long-since departed to indulge in vices of his own, leaving Rebekah alone in her spiteful plans against their older brother. Elijah was already on the case, to give Klaus a hard time in his own way, completely guileless to Rebekah's machinations. Elijah knew how spiteful she could get, but she'd successfully convinced him that Nik was becoming enamored with the queen and must be stopped.

Of course, she knew that was ridiculous, as did Kol. While their brother may be attracted to a challenge - a challenge the queen certainly represented - Rebekah didn't believe he was capable of actually loving anyone more than himself. And she was quite certain he didn't even love himself.

She'd been at his side during those 52 years of mental anguish the Hunters' Curse had enacted on him. She'd personally been torn to shreds, attacked, bitten, cried on, and much more. Five centuries couldn't erase those years. She doubted she would ever forget them.

There was a raging level of guilt she felt for that entire ordeal. She'd allowed Alexander in to her life. She'd allowed him into her bed and into her heart. The naive girl she'd still been then, even though she'd been a vampire for decades before meeting him, was convinced he wanted to marry her and live out his life by her side. Five hundred years hadn't smoothed over the heart-rending betrayal which had torn her heart in two. The pain of a hundred magical daggers couldn't surpass the pain she'd unintentionally inflicted on herself - and her entire family - as a result of her recklessness.

Of all of the Mikaelson siblings, Rebekah prided herself on being able to read people. She'd always been able to tell when someone was lying, but she hadn't seen it in Alexander. Perhaps it was because she was in love with him, and that love had clouded her judgement, but she didn't like to think that was the reason. She hoped she would be wiser than that sort of thing, but hindsight was much stronger than foresight.

Since that time, she'd been almost as paranoid as Klaus where her love life was concerned. Men were toys or food or entertainment, but nothing more. She hadn't allowed herself to love since. She hadn't allowed anyone close to her since. Deep inside, she was flagellating herself for almost destroying her family. The words Klaus screamed at her that night as she shook in tears in his arms still echoed in the back of her mind, all of these years later. She'd trusted Alexander over her brothers. She'd been a fool. She made a silent promise to herself never to be so foolish again.

She had no way of knowing that her loving heart would melt and concede as the years went on, or what her future would hold for both love and betrayal. There was no way she could know the prophecies of her long life, and she didn't wish to know.

Lost in thought, a shifting in the crowd before her broke her slowly out of her daydreaming and she realized the king was inexorably making his way through the bodies of his guests, heading directly toward her. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she desperately looked for an escape route, but the crowd of partygoers was too thick around her. Sure, she could push all of them aside with the flick of her wrist, but that would draw more attention than she was willing to compel away just to escape the licentious intent of the king. While Klaus's dare still hung in the back of her mind, she wasn't in the mood to play games with Louis tonight. The freshness of Anne's pain over the Margot situation was enough to turn Rebekah off of the game for now.

However, her unwillingness toward his company wasn't stopping him, and his beady little eyes were trained on her like a wolf hunting down his prey. She hated being watched that way, hated feeling like an animal in a man's eyes, and in her mildly inebriated state, she was half-tempted to show him just how powerful she was. Deep down, she knew that was stupid and reckless and if a lynch mob didn't get to her first, then Elijah would certainly finish her off.

Before her brain had time to debate the scandal of murder versus escape, a figure stepped in front of her, sufficiently blocking her view of the king of France. Blinking in confusion, she frowned as she lifted her gaze and looked directly into the face of the Musketeer she'd noticed watching her earlier.

"Take my hand and dance with me now before he gets here," he spoke succinctly, his French accent rich and smooth like a fine wine. Without a thought, she slipped her gloved fingers into the man's palm and he kept himself between her and the king as he gracefully led her through the crowd toward the dance floor.

Glancing past the musketeer's shoulder, she noticed Louis frowning childishly, his prey nabbed before he could catch her. An amused smile lit up Rebekah's face and she had to resist the urge to laugh out loud.

"There's a smile," the Musketeer spoke, leading her all the way to the dance floor, "You don't seem to do that often."

They'd reached the floor, and she balked for a moment – she wasn't really in the mood to dance at all - but if she openly resisted that would mean 1) dealing with Louis who wouldn't surely give up his hunt for her and 2) possibly embarrassing herself. She was a lady, even better at all of this societal nonsense than Elijah was when she put her mind to it.

Dancing seemed to be the only thing which would relieve her from the king's grabby hands, so she acquiesced with her head held high and her back straight. Glancing up at the musketeer as he stepped in front of her and offered her his hands, she offered him an endearing smile which would look perfectly happy and pleasant to anyone watching them.

"That's not it," he noted, and her smile faltered for a moment as he gracefully led her into a sweeping waltz matching the music.

"_Excusez-moi_?" she asked, her brow furrowing as she looked into his dark eyes. He still wore the simple leather mask every Musketeer wore tonight, but his eyes sparkled beneath the swooping brim of his hat. She hadn't intended to talk to him at all; this was merely a respite from Louis's advances. The striking of a conversation threw her off guard for a moment.

"That smile... that wasn't the one, not the real one," he noted, tilting his head back slightly so the light from the room spilled beneath the brim of his hat and danced across his chin before disappearing as he smiled at her and his face was cast back into shadow.

Rebekah audibly sniffed. "What do you know about my smile?" She looked away from him, frowning sardonically and rolling her eyes. Her golden mask helped to hide some of her less than ladylike expressions.

"It only shows itself on weekends and holidays and never around the king," he noted, smiling amusedly. Recognizing he was teasing her, she cut her eyes to him and resisted the urge to smile although it tugged powerfully at the corners of her mouth. He was trying so desperately to be charming, and he was clearly interested in her since she'd caught him watching her more than once of the past few weeks. She realized he was the same musketeer she'd seen during her first few days in the queen's service when they'd been racing in the gardens.

"Who are you to know so much about me and my facial expressions?" she asked, blithely. She shouldn't be playing along, but perhaps he would make a nice snack. She had been wondering if Kol was right about the blue ones tasting better than Cardinal Richelieu's red guards anyway. She'd consider it for science.

"I know nothing about you," he admitted. Gently he released his hold on her hand but kept his hand around her back, continuing to dance with her as he reached up to pull his mask from his face. By showing his face, it was clear he meant to hide nothing from her, but she wasn't willing to trust so easily. Her hurt was too deep, the memory of betrayal too raw. Once the black leather dropped away, his handsome face was fully in view, and she wished she wasn't as impressed as she was. She prided herself on hiding her emotions, and she hoped she was successful now.

Some men looked foolish with only a moustache and a tuft of hair in the cleft of their chin, but his face held it well. His eyes were so brown they were almost black, but his gaze was simultaneously kind and sultry. The curves in his face were defined but not so much so that he looked gaunt, and his jawline was so chiseled, it looked as if it could cut her. His brown hair curled defiantly out from beneath his hat where it rested above his ears, and, as his smirk grew, it was crooked and mischievous in a way she realized she liked.

But she couldn't like him. She wouldn't like him. He was merely another instrument in her potential destruction. She wouldn't become a lovesick fool over a handsome face. She was Rebekah Mikaelson, the Original sister and immortal vampire. Her expression hardened and she lifted her chin as he took her hand again. The leather mask was between their palms now, further separating them and that pleased her.

"You're right. You know don't know me," she agreed, her tone frosty. Looking back up at him, her eyes glinted threateningly. She knew he recognized the expression by the slight way he frowned in response. "You've been following me around for weeks."

The man had the gall to laugh out loud in response. His laughter was like a deep, rich bell, and her eyes widened as he chuckled heartily at her comment. Irritation spiked in her chest and a flash of heat ran across the bridge of her nose as she glared openly at him. When he recovered from his laughter, he shook his head which made the feather in his hat wave gracefully in the air as he looked back at her.

"I am a royal musketeer: servant to the king," he clarified, the amused light still shining in his eyes. Leaning slightly toward her, he screwed up his face in a playful expression. "I have to go wherever the king goes. You go wherever the queen goes. If the king and the queen are together..." He raised his eyebrows and scrunched his nose, trailing off so she could complete the sentence on her own.

"You think highly of yourself, don't you?" he asked her, smiling that irascible, crooked smile again.

"You deny you've watched me enough to recognize a difference in my smiles," she pointed out, ignoring his question about her ego and her mild embarrassment about her assumption that he'd been following her. Of course she thought highly of herself. She was one of the four most powerful creatures in this castle. She could tear him apart in a few seconds flat, not giving him the opportunity to think twice. She wouldn't because she wasn't a monster, but she could. There was nothing under the sun she felt she couldn't do.

Looking back up at him, she fixed him with a hard look. "I don't particularly care for your commentary on my life," she informed him coldly.

Pulling his chin back, his dark eyes widened slightly and he snorted softly. "Your moods seem as mercurial as your smiles," he responded. She half-expected him to be disgusted with her, to be so turned off by her response to him that he would leave her alone. Deep down, she knew this was her defense mechanism. It was easy enough to turn a man away. Very few of them enjoyed a fight. However, he seemed appropriately disgruntled by her reaction but not so much as to be disgusted with her. Strange... most men didn't like a woman who argued. That was why she didn't like most men.

"I'm still a bit confused why you think I care what you think about the quality of my moods or otherwise," she retorted smoothly, holding her chin high as he lifted his hand and spun her beneath his arm before catching her so they were facing one another again. "I don't even know your name - nor have I voiced the desire to learn it - and I'm fairly certain you don't know mine so why-"

"Aramis," he replied simply, his crooked grin soft in the left corner of his mouth now. Her pique at his interest didn't seem unnoticed; he merely wasn't affronted by it. Perhaps he wasn't as obsessed with her as she'd first tried to accuse him.

"And you are Lady Rebekah, yes?" he asked, dipping his head slightly. She didn't respond, but she breathed out a sharp breath through her nose so it almost sounded like a snort.

"Yes, you are," he answered for her, straightening his back as he led her into another spin which matched the tempo of the music. "You see, my lady, I am one of the king's musketeers. It is my job to easily recognize the people who live in this castle, and who frequent it. It is also within my responsibilities to protect those people.

"While I'm certain you would stubbornly refuse any protection I, or my fellow Musketeers, would offer you, it remains within our code of honor. Please excuse me if me doing my job offends your delicate sensibilities," Aramis commented. The thread of sardonicism was there in his tone, but his words were polite. He was more adept at navigating a barbed conversation than she'd given him credit for.

"Does it disappoint you that I may not be the wolfish rapscallion you first believed me to be?" This time his tone was playful, and she resisted the urge to smile as he grinned at her.

"Perhaps I misjudged you," she admitted, training her eyes over his shoulder as they waltzed and refusing to look him in the eye. Her chin was held high and her back was straight. Her posture was impeccable and every inch of her exuded feminine supremacy.

"_Oui_, perhaps you did," he agreed with the hint of a smile, spinning her out and away from him as the dance ended.

Releasing her hand, he repositioned his leather mask over his eyes and glanced past her to notice the king stood watching her from the other end of the dance floor. Following his glance as he fixed his mask, Rebekah scowled and had to dig her fingertips into the palms of her hands to resist the anger that welled up within her. If she didn't seduce the king, then she would lose her bet with Klaus. In light of her recent anger with her brother after what he'd done by telling the queen Rebekah had leaked her secret, Rebekah wasn't eager to lose their bet.

However, even the idea of manipulating Louis left a bitter taste in her mouth right now. She could clearly see Anne's drawn face as she'd admitted her husband's indiscretions. She didn't imagine the queen was desperately in love with her husband, but there was still a pact there that had been made. The king had disrespected that and made it defunct. Now Anne was reduced to being little more than a breeding sow and that disgusted Rebekah. She believed in strong women, not women who were subject to how a man dignified them, and she knew the queen well enough to know she agreed.

Her distaste was obvious on her face as Aramis looked away from the king and back at her. Holding out his elbow, he gave her a pointed expression. "Do you trust me?"

Looking up at him, she raised an eyebrow. "Why should I?"

He smiled knowingly and motioned with his head in Louis's direction. "It's no small secret I'm not the only one who's noticed your devastating beauty," he commented, both complimenting her and teasing her.

Sighing inwardly, she glanced across the dance floor again. Louis stood in a group of young women who clambered around him, wanting his attention. He ignored them as he sipped from yet another glass of alcohol and watched Rebekah across the floor. She'd never felt so disrespected in her life, and it enraged her. For a moment, the briefest flash of a breath, his eyes on her made her feel soiled and that added to her anger.

Looking back up at Aramis, her blue eyes were harder than she'd intended but he didn't shrink at the coldness of her gaze. "I don't have a reason to trust you, but you give me an excuse to get away from him. Let's go," she half-ordered, taking his arm and allowing him to lead her from the ballroom and away from the king.

Tearing a handful of leaves off of the nearest shrubbery, she threw them with a small yell of frustration. She was disappointed when they floated blithely to the ground instead of flying across the garden, and she snorted angrily as she planted her hands on her hips.

Sitting on a stone bench nearby, his arm rested comfortably over his knee which was propped up beside him, Aramis smiled and plucked the last petal from the flower he was holding before tossing the naked stem over his shoulder into the bushes. "You should be nicer to the agriculture," he commented amusedly, but Rebekah ignored him.

Fuming in silence, she glared out across the dark, expansive garden which was only illuminated by the silver glow of the full moon overhead. Her hands were in fists resting on her hips and her jaw was set angrily. She'd discarded her golden mask on the bench beside the musketeer, and she'd been angrily assaulting plants since they'd come out here. She'd needed some fresh air to work off the aggravation the king had beset on her.

"Shush," she ordered him, and he chuckled softly to himself as he shifted his weight. He picked her mask up off of the stone before straightening his feet out across the bench and leaning back against the curved arm of the seat. Setting the mask on his chest, he rested his head in his hands and tilted back so he was looking up at the moon overhead.

"You've been pummeling petunias and clobbering carnations since we came out here," Aramis noted, glancing at her out of the side of his eyes. "Don't you think it's time you gave the poor things a rest?"

He laughed as she snatched another handful of leaves from a nearby shrub and threw them at him. This time, the leaves flew more according to her will and landed in his face and hair so he sputtered out foliage as he tried to stop laughing.

His laughter was contagious even though she was still angry, and as she was unable to stop smiling, she looked away from him to hide it. She shouldn't be throwing such a fit. She could handle Louis with ease. She could just compel him to be disinterested, but that would mean she lost the bet instantly. Frustrated and wildly competitive, she was at an impasse. Only her revenge against Klaus would soothe the spitefulness within her.

She knew she was being a brat, but she didn't care.

"Is this really about the king?" Aramis asked her suddenly, and she turned toward him, surprised he would ask such a thing. He was more intuitive than she'd expected, and it caught her off guard.

His question deflated her anger slightly, and her shoulders relaxed as her hands fell to her sides. Releasing an audible sigh she had to push out of her airless lungs, she turned slightly toward him, glancing at him before looking away. "It's mostly him," she admitted, not trusting the musketeer enough to pour her heart out to him. There wasn't a way she could adequately explain her family's dynamic anyway, even if she tried.

"He's a debauched beast," she growled, glaring into the darkness again. Focusing her anger on Louis was easier than directing her anger at her brothers. She would be with stuck with them for the entirety of her long life: always and forever. It was both a blessing and a curse.

Aramis brought her out of her thoughts as he snorted and nodded in agreement. "It's not a secret. Everyone knows it, the musketeers probably better than anyone," he admitted, swinging his feet off of the bench and planting his boots on the gravelly ground again.

Rebekah turned to look at him, narrowing her eyes with interest. He continued even though she didn't prompt him. Perhaps he sensed she was unwilling to talk about herself, so he filled in the gaps with his extroverted personality.

"He's a young king and bred to believe everything in the world is his to treat fairly or poorly at his behest," he described, resting his elbows on his knees and balling his hands up in front of him, the fingers of his left hand massaging the backs of the knuckles on his right hand. "But he is our king, and despite his personal flaws, he is a good ruler. The country is safe and prosperous. Is there more we could ask for?"

She was unsure if he was truly asking her or if he was musing mostly to himself, so she didn't answer. There was a moment of silence between them, but this time it didn't feel uncomfortable to her.

Men didn't typically speak to her this way. They were conditioned by their society to believe women were stupid, designed for reproduction and companionship only when a man demanded it. As a vampire who'd lived five centuries, this ideal had become a thorn in her side. She was as intelligent as her brothers and far wiser than the human men she'd met over the past five hundred years. Being corralled into a category of weak, helpless creatures was not in the purview of images she imagined for her life.

Whether it was intentional or not, Aramis's musing showed her more respect than any man had done for her in quite some time. Even her brothers tended to talk down to her - all except Kol who reveled in her anger and fiery spirit and quite enjoyed seeing her snap at Elijah and Klaus when they were out of line - and they often treated her as part of their property as much as their sister.

But this man who didn't know her and had only seen her from afar, spoke to her as a human, an equal. She hadn't been human in five hundred years, but she felt more like one now than she had in all of that time. The gratitude she felt for such a small thing rose slowly through her like a cleansing flush of coolness and she stepped through the gravel until she reached the bench where he sat.

Her blue tulle dress looked silver in the moonlight, and it engulfed most of the bench as she sunk down beside him. The fabric spilled over his left knee, and he lifted his chin to watch it settle as she sat. Reaching out, he gently touched the tulle with the tips of his fingers as if brushing his hand tenderly across the rays of the moon.

"You love him, not in the way a man loves a woman, but as a soldier who is faithful to his master," she pointed out, resting her hands in her lap as she watched the moonlight outlining the chiseled lines of his face. "He is your king, and even when he isn't the finest specimen of humanity, you are still devoted."

"Is that honor?" Aramis asked her, smirking slightly, a touch of some sort of sadness behind his eyes. He turned his head and looked at her through the tops of his eyes, a gentle crooked smile on his handsome face.

"I think it is," she replied, finally relaxing enough to return his smile.

Straightening, his lips parted and he breathed, and she could hear the steady _thump thump _of his heart as he flattening his palms out on the tops of his knees. His elbows were out at his sides as he turned to look out across the dark garden. Rebekah was struck with how human he was as he sat there, devoted to a sovereign who was flawed and unlikable because it was within his code of honor and he believed in something greater. He may be cheeky and flirtatious, but she sensed this man had a great heart.

Relaxing more, she allowed the thrumming of his heart to fill her ears as she turned and gazed out across the garden. Her fingers absently played with the rough tulle across her lap, and she allowed herself to become lost in the simple humanity of a heartbeat. There were times, like this one, when the night air was cool against her porcelain skin and the earth was at rest, when she missed being human. She missed simplicity and mortality, the frailty of a life that was sure to end versus the stone body she existed within.

Glancing down at her wrists, she saw the skin she'd seen for five centuries, the same mold she'd been since the day she'd been brutally born, from blood and abuse, as a vampire. Nothing had changed on her skin since she had no tattoos or scars. She looked as soft as velvet, but she was as strong as marble and harder to break. Her heart had become the same, a stone protected by indestructible iron armor. There wasn't anything soft about her anymore, and she missed it. She'd allowed it all to be stamped out of her through a collection of abuses over her long life - her father, her brothers, Alexander - and now she was the cold shell of the girl she'd once been.

What sort of life was she living in this immortal case? Sleeping a magical slumber with a dagger in her chest would be more of an existence than what she was experiencing while always closing herself off.

"I should get you back to the queen," Aramis said suddenly, his soft voice breaking the smooth silence of the garden. "It's late."

Sitting up straighter, Rebekah raised her eyebrows and pulled her hands up her thighs through the tulle of her skirt. Her lips parted as she feigned a breath to recover from the thoughts which were coursing through her brain.

He was standing beside her before she registered it, and his hand extended into her view as he offered to help her up. Accepting the help since her corset was restrictive even if she was a vampire who didn't need to breathe like normal people, she stood smoothly and smiled slightly before glancing away from him.

A golden glint caught her eye and she turned back to see him holding up her mask between them, a small smirk on his lips. "Best not return without this. Everyone will be whispering where you've been," he teased her gently, a coy glint in his brown eyes. His moustache seemed to curl with the curve of his lips, exaggerating his amused expression.

Involuntarily, Rebekah broke into a grin and snatched the mask from him playfully, pulling it back over her ears and tying it beneath her blond hair as the two of them walked side by side toward the palace. "Wouldn't want anyone spreading rumors that I was out with the likes of you," she noted flippantly, smiling to herself as she feigned nonchalance and glanced away from him.

He caught on to her tone and grinned, reaching up to fix his hat back into his wavy brown hair. "Certainly not. Musketeers don't have the best reputation, you know, especially me," he pointed out, smoothing out his moustache with the tips of his fingers and running his hand over his face.

Rebekah raised an eyebrow as they reentered the palace and he escorted her toward the queen's wing of the expansive home. They didn't touch, but his presence beside her warmed her in a way she hadn't felt for quite some time. Shrugging it off, she laced her hands together in front of her and held her head high as she glided toward the queen's private chambers.

"Are you saying that you are a wolfish rapscallion after all, _monsieur_?" she asked him lightly, quoting him from earlier in the evening.

Aramis smiled broadly as they came to a stop outside of the queen's chambers. In the golden light within the palace, his tanned skin held a vibrancy to it that emanated with his vitality. Rebekah wanted to partake in that vibrancy, wanted to sink her fangs into his neck and drink of him as if she could somehow consume his ebullience that way. But that would be fleeting and short, ultimately unsatisfactory. No, she wouldn't snuff out his life the way she had with men over the past few centuries. She didn't want to toy with him and then suck the life out of him that way. She lusted for something more, some way to experience his humanity.

"Perhaps I am, Lady Rebekah," he answered her, a twinkle in his eye as he gestured toward the door that would lead her to the queen.

She paused for a moment, her hand extended to rest on the gilded handle of the door, and her chin lifted slightly as she looked into his dark eyes. His pupils dilated so the dark brown was almost consumed by the black as he watched her, and his lips parted slightly so she could hear the warm pants of his breath through them. He watched her intently, and she knew her beauty had an effect on him just as his humanity had grown to have an effect on her.

Tilting her chin up, her eyelids drooping slightly over her blue eyes, she glanced at his mouth again and heard his heartbeat skip as he noticed. She was intentionally positioned so he could easily lean in and kiss her if he wished. And why wouldn't he wish? As a vampire, she had an enchanting quality to her that drew humans in like flies to honey. She was the perfect predator: a beautiful young girl with an innocent face. But she was also testing him. She was testing to see if he would be like every other man she'd ever met. They were undone by her natural good looks, her golden hair, and her sparkling blue eyes. She'd lost respect in the lot of them as a result.

Suddenly, Aramis straightened and swallowed as he took a half-step back. He offered her a polite smile and reached down to grab her hand, bringing it up to his lips. Planting a soft kiss on her knuckles, so soft she almost didn't feel it through her glove, he stood and then reached up to tip his hat. "_Bon nuit_, Rebekah," he told her before turning and marching off down the hallway, his booted steps echoing down the corridor until he disappeared around the corner.

Even after he was gone, she stood alone in stunned silence for a moment, her jaw hanging open slightly. Narrowing her eyes, she stared at the empty space where he'd disappeared and wondered about him. He'd had every opportunity to kiss her, to fall into a masculine trope she'd established in her mind thanks to centuries of experience. And he hadn't. This musketeer - the word echoed disdainfully in her mind as if she'd spit it out loud - hadn't taken the bait. Lifting her chin, she smiled, her eyelids lowering in a coy smile before she pushed the door open and retreated to the honeycomb of the queen's chambers for the night.


	13. Chapter 13

Anne stood for a moment, alone in her expansive private washing chamber. It was dark save for the flickering lamps around the room, and she held her silk robe around her shoulders as she stared blankly at nothing. She felt drained, but she couldn't pinpoint why. Or perhaps she didn't want to think about it long enough to figure it out. Perhaps she already knew.

Her honey blond hair fell in natural curls down her back now that it was no longer bound up in pins, and the silken robe had fallen from her shoulders so she held it draped around her shoulder blades as she stared blankly at the marble floor. Lowering herself to the floor, she shivered slightly as the cold stone chilled her legs, and she turned her gaze toward the bath filled with milk. It was set into the floor similar to a Roman bath - how she loved those - so she easily dipped her foot over the edge and slowly trailed her toes through the white liquid. It wasn't cold, thankfully; she trusted the milk bath would soothe her and help her to clear her mind.

Rising back to her feet, she dropped the robe at her ankles and then carefully stepped into the bath, lowering herself slowly in. The milk stole her breath away for a moment and she clenched her teeth together until she was fully immersed. Breathing a sigh of relief, she reclined her head against the edge of the bath. Her shoulders were just above the milk so most of her was hidden, leaving her neck exposed.

Dragging her fingers through the watery milk, she watched the moody light in the room flickering across her eyelids. Tilting her chin up, she exposed more of her throat, her lips parting as she drew in a deep breath through her mouth. Her mind was racing, but she couldn't focus on one specific thought. Part of her knew it was because she didn't want to focus. If she focused, then she would realize what she was feeling wasn't entirely appropriate.

She couldn't deny the electric pull she'd felt as she'd danced with Niklaus Mikaelson. He was a pain, seemingly enamored with testing her, but there was chemistry there when they'd danced together. She couldn't explain it, so she was repressing it instead. Finding a man attractive was no reason to lose her mind over him. There were plenty of attractive noblemen in Paris. Realistically, as the queen, she had her pick of them if she wished, but she'd never bothered. They were all the same, and they didn't amuse her.

The simple fact that Klaus caught her attention at all was significant. Most of them blurred together until even their faces were indistinguishable in her mind. She remembered their family names out of necessity, but she didn't particularly care to remember anything else. Politeness didn't require getting close to anyone.

Instantly, she reminded herself that she didn't intend to get close to Klaus. She almost laughed at the thought. He was rude and testy, impetuous and easily-angered. She ignored the fact that the baser parts of her were exactly the same - those parts he so easily riled up with his presence - and resolved herself against him. They were allies, but that alliance was tenuous at best. As soon as Margot was out of the country on one of the Mikaelson ships, she would sever ties with him.

Relaxing the muscles in her lower back, she floated upward in the bath until the curves of her knees breached the water, and she sighed audibly again. A faint scratching sound distantly plagued at her mind, and she frowned to herself but ignored it. Her ladies knew she was to be left alone, so they wouldn't interrupt her.

The scratching slowly changed to a tapping sound she couldn't identify, and she perked up her ears to listen. It began like someone scratching a quill against a piece of parchment, but it changed to an almost metallic scraping sound that she couldn't ignore.

Opening her eyes, she frowned across the room but found she was still alone. Her silken robe lay in a pile nearby, but other than the rippling of the bath around her knees and chest, there was no other sound in the room. Narrowing her eyes slightly, she leaned her head back against the side of the bath again and calmed her heart. She was hearing things now. Great.

The room remained quiet for a while longer, and she relaxed more, sinking down to her chin in the milk as she forced herself to enjoy the bath. She'd had too much stress for such a short time. She needed to relax so she could be at her best. Being distracted by thoughts of good-looking but snappish noblemen wasn't the best for her or for France.

_Click click, scratch_.

Her eyes flew open as she heard it again, and she sat up in the bath, her heart leaping into her throat. At the opposite end of the room, a pair of golden eyes (whether they were gold or the light of the room was making them look that way, she wasn't sure) watched her through the translucent fabric draping from the ceiling to the floor around the bath. Her breath caught in her throat as fear and surprise clutched at her chest, releasing a small squeak through her lips.

The eyes moved, and the shape came in to view: a black wolf with eyes that glowed unlike any animal she'd seen. It was much larger than she imagined it should be, and it watched her with an intelligent gaze that set her off and filled her with more fear. Her heart was beating quickly now; she imagined everyone in the nearby rooms could hear it.

But she was alone. She'd specifically requested she be entirely alone. Now she regretted that decision.

Sitting up slowly in the bath, her hands shaking, she ran her fingers along the marble ledge until her fingertips grasped her silk robe. She never took her eyes from the wolf as it slowly moved, circling her and watching her. Turning so she continued facing it, she fumbled for her robe and pushed herself up out of the milk so she could pull the robe around her shoulders. Even if a flimsy silk robe wouldn't protect her from a wolf attack, at least she felt more comfortable with something covering her nakedness.

A low grating sound rumbled across the marble floor, and she realized the wolf was growling at her. The hair on its back was standing up now, and her knees felt weak as she balanced in the bath and tried to think clearly. This was only an animal. Yes, it was a large and potentially deadly animal, but an animal nonetheless. She held on to the thought in an attempt to calm herself, but it didn't work well. She was terrified. How was one supposed to prepare for this sort of thing? There wasn't a page about dealing with wild animals in the bathing room in any of her etiquette books.

Swallowing heavily, she eased toward the edge of the bath, keeping the wolf in front of her as it started growling more vehemently when it noticed her movements. It was as if the creature could sense she was trying to slowly escape, and it was growing angry. She debated speaking soothingly to the wolf, but her voice was caught in her throat, rendering her mute. Her hands shook violently as she wrung the robe between her fingers where she clutched the fabric over her bare chest.

"It's-" her voice broke, sounding too loud and nasally in her fear. Swallowing again, drawing her chin up as she did so, she struggled to take a breath before trying to speak again. "It's alright..." she managed, slowly holding a hand out toward the wolf to ward it off.

"I won't hurt you."

The wolf growled stronger, gnashing its teeth angrily at her as if mocking her. Of course she wouldn't hurt it. She wasn't the predator here.

Her brain didn't have the time to register why a wild animal was in her bath in the first place. She could barely breathe, let alone wonder how wildlife had infiltrated the innermost areas of the palace.

Inching away from the wolf toward the corner of the bath where she thought she had a better chance to get a footing if the creature lunged, she felt along the marble until she reached the stairs at the far end of the marble pool. The wolf's golden eyes flickered, and it looked down at her hand. She swore intelligent realization dawned in the beast's eyes, and she knew this was no ordinary wolf. Confusion and fear stifled her, but she continued her slow attempt to escape by edging up the first step at the end of the bath.

The wolf noticed and growled vehemently, taking the opportunity to lunge before she could escape.

With an involuntary scream, she turned to scramble out of the bath, but her feet slipped on the marble, taking her hard down onto her hands and knees. Panic flooded through her as she heard the scraping of the wolf's claws on the marble floor as it came for her. Glancing back over her shoulder as she pushed herself up on the floor, she thanked the heavens above that the creature was having almost as much trouble getting traction on the polished marble as she was. But the wolf was stronger than her and was already recovering quicker.

"Someone help!" she screamed, getting tangled in her floor-length silk robe as it became weighed down with milk and wrapped around her knees when she tried climbing up the stairs and out of the bath. In her fear, all she could hear was the wild beating of her heart in her ears. She had no idea if anyone could hear her screams from here.

Panting wildly, hot tears springing to her eyes in reaction to her terror, she forgot feminine convention and used both hands to drag herself up onto the slick stone as she heard the wolf catching its footing a few meters away. The length of the massive bathing room worked to her advantage, but the puddle of milk around her feet did not. As she tried to stand so she could run, she slipped in the milk again and cursed audibly as she fell back to her knees.

"Someone!" she screamed again. Struggling and becoming breathless with fright, she looked frantically behind her to see the wolf had disappeared from view.

Falling on to her behind, she looked around her in a frenzy. Where was it? It had to be here. Was she hallucinating?

She heard the breath a second before the jaws snapped only a foot away from her face, and she was deafened by the scream she later realized to be her own. Falling onto her back on the hard marble floor, wooden with fear, she was certain she would be torn apart at any moment. This was it. This was the end of Queen Anne of France.

Her eyes clenched closed and her fingers grasped so tightly to the robe around her that the fabric tore from the intensity. She was paralyzed, and her breaths came rapidly as she clung to the inevitable end to her short life.

But it didn't come.

Opening her eyes warily, one at the time, all she could register was a golden blur intermingled with the black fur of the wolf. A whooshing sound passed her and she heard a yelp, but her mind was too jumbled to make sense of what was happening. At the end of the bathing room, one of the lamps exploded and a human growl followed it. The wolf snarled and there was a scramble, but the extinguishing of the lamp cast the other end of the room into near-complete darkness and she couldn't focus well enough to tell what was going on.

A second swooshing sound moved behind her, creating a breeze which rippled her robe around her shoulders and a displacement of air that made her ears pop. Strong hands slipped beneath her and she was suddenly flying through the air, her thin robe the only protection she had against the cool night air. Shaking in shock now, she sank helplessly into her savior's chest and clung desperately to the silk in her hands as some sort of comfort.

Distantly, she realized she was no longer in the bathing room but in her own bedroom being lowered into her massive canopy bed. Her eyes were wide and her joints felt frozen. Her teeth chattered in her head, but not because she was cold. Still shaking, she drew her knees up in front of her as the candles in the room suddenly lit and filled the room with a familiar, comforting glow.

The shape of masculine shoulders materialized as the candlelight filled the bedroom, and she watched as the man turned and then appeared at the side of her bed as if he hadn't just been all the way across the room. There was the displacement of air again, blowing the dry tendrils of her naturally curly hair back from the sides of her face. Looking up into his face, she reluctantly recognized him.

Her lips parted, but she couldn't speak. All that came out was the chattering of her teeth, and she suddenly felt very frail and weak. Clutching her robe around her, realizing her severe state of undress, she pulled her knees up beneath her, tried to sit up straighter, and glared at Klaus as he stepped to her side and bent down to look into her face.

"Relax... it's taken care of," he told her. His voice wasn't soothing as she somehow expected it to be. Weren't saviors supposed to speak softly and comfortingly to damsels in distress? Instead he spoke to her in a business-like tone that managed to relax her more than his sympathy could have. No, she didn't need coddling or sympathy. His clipped tone was strangely exactly what she needed. She didn't want to feel weak, especially not as exposed as she was.

She imagined what she must have looked like as he scooped her up into his arms: like a drowned rat desperately trying to escape its fate and failing miserably. Embarrassment filled every inch of her, and she closed her eyes as she began rocking slightly on the bed. Of all of the people in the world she didn't want to see her this way, Niklaus Mikaelson was the last of them.

He didn't touch her, but he looked into her eyes as she glared at him, trying to summon her familiar anger at him to replace the terror in her chest. But it wouldn't come. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn't cry in front of him. Her heart fluttered in her chest, beating wildly like the wings of a hummingbird as she struggled with the myriad of feelings - fear, excitement, panic, embarrassment - rushing through her.

"I said relax. Your heart is beating out of control," he informed her, and she was still too scared to register how he could possibly know how fast her heart was beating.

He sat down beside her now and reached out, pulling her against him again and in to his lap. Her embarrassment that he was holding her like a child was overwhelmed by the strange warmth of him. Bracing her arm, her elbow feeling like stone as her muscles spasmed, she held herself away from his chest in a last ditch defiance. What strength she had was leaving her, and her joints slowly warmed so her feet fell to the floor and her legs were draped over his lap. She still shook violently, but he held her as if it didn't affect him.

It wasn't an affectionate embrace, and for that, she was grateful. There was no ulterior motive in his touch at all, nothing that made her feel threatened. She could be sitting in a chair for how little he made contact with her skin, as if he was intentionally refusing to brush his skin against hers. He was merely something living for her to touch.

Something within her told her this wasn't natural for him, or at least it wasn't intentional. He didn't seem like the type to comfort someone, so she didn't read in to it. She just focused on making herself calm down as he'd instructed her, ignoring her stubbornness that told her not to listen to a man whom she outranked. He was right whether she liked it or not.

Her arm between them gradually relaxed and she slumped slowly back in to his arm around her shoulders. "The wolf..." she managed, her teeth still chattering and making it hard to speak. Her heartbeat picked up at the thought of those vicious fangs and golden eyes. That wolf was hunting her. She had no doubt about it now.

"It's taken care of," he spoke succinctly before shifting to lift her from his lap, placing her back onto the bed. He stood and brushed his hands down his clothes which were now damp from where she'd been sitting on him.

Before she could speak again, he glanced quickly to the door a moment before it opened and Rebekah stumbled in. He moved to her immediately, ignoring her when she waved him off. She held one hand to her neck, and her fingers were red with blood. Anne's eyes widened in horror as Klaus led his sister to a chair.

"Rebekah!" she spoke, her voice cracking from the screaming she'd done. The girl shook her head and offered her a weak smile as she sank into the chair with her brother hovering over her.

Forcing herself to her feet, Anne walked on shaking legs to her friend's side, pushing aside her own weakness to see to her friend. She was having a breakdown over being terrorized by a wolf while Rebekah was obviously physically hurt. Catching herself on the armrest of the chair, she frowned in consternation as she examined her friend. Klaus glared at her now, either because he thought she should be resting or because she was in his way, she wasn't quite sure. But Rebekah silenced him before he could reprimand the queen.

"The bastard bit me and then jumped off the balcony," Rebekah informed them, wincing and tightening her hold on her neck. Looking down at her clothes, Anne recognized Rebekah's golden nightgown and realized, confusedly, that her friend must have been the blur she'd seen attack the wolf. But that made no sense. How could she move so fast?

Klaus's eyebrows drew together and he tore his sleeve away from his wrist, lifting his hand to his mouth and biting into his own skin. Anne's mouth fell open in surprise as the squelching sound of his teeth tearing his own skin reached her ears, and she covered her mouth as he pressed his wrist to his sister's mouth.

Rebekah grunted and shook her head, pushing him away which only seemed to infuriate him. "Drink, Rebekah."

She tried resisting again, but she was too weak to fight him, and soon the sound of her drinking his blood softly filled the room. He ground his teeth together so hard Anne could hear it from where she stood beside the chair. Glancing away from his sister, he seemed to realize for the second time that Anne was still there. Her eyes widened as he looked up at her, his eyes harder than they had been only minutes before when he'd saved her from a murderous wolf.

Klaus surged up from where he'd been kneeling beside his sister as Rebekah finished drinking and crossed the space between them, grabbing Anne by her shoulders. His strength astounded her, and she dropped her hands to her sides as her arms went numb thanks to the pressure of his hands on her. She was confused and now perturbed by the way he was grabbing her, and the conflicting emotions flickered across her face as she stared him down. No one ever physically touched her without threat of imprisonment or beheading, and she was angry that he'd done so without her permission.

"What's going on? What's wrong with her? What was that thing?" the question poured out of her before she could stop them. She was so disoriented. She would think it was all a nightmare if she didn't know better. The numbness in her limbs, her leaden heart after the stress of the wolf's attack: it was all too real to deny. But she wasn't the type to balk from it. She preferred answers.

Klaus's eyelids dropped slightly and his grip on her shoulders slacked slightly, a perturbed expression passing over his face before he clenched his jaw and the muscle in his cheek tightened. Lowering his chin, he looked directly into her eyes and she randomly noticed how richly blue his eyes were even in such dim lighting. What a strange thought in light of everything that had happened within the last hour...

"Now is not the time for you to know," he informed her, and his eyes seemed to draw her in in a way she couldn't describe. Her lips parted and her chin lifted slightly as she became entranced by his gaze. His words seemed to fill her mind until she forgot about all of her fear and trepidation.

"Don't lie to me..." she managed, not noticing the momentary stunned look on his handsome face as she responded to him through the compulsion. His face really was so handsome...

He sighed audibly, the sigh echoing to the back of her mind as she slackened within his grasp, no longer fighting against his hold. "I won't lie to you. You just don't need to know now."

His gaze filled her mind, bewildering her and bending her strong will so every fiber of her being wanted to obey him. It was such a funny feeling. "I don't need to know now," she repeated, the compulsion taking hold.

"Now, sleep," he commanded her gently, or at least it sounded gentle to her. She hummed in agreement and nodded slowly, her eyelids suddenly feeling very heavy.

"I'm so... tired..." she commented, unable to keep her eyes open as if she'd been drugged. Slowly, the room went black and she didn't remember anything else as she slumped back into her bed and fell asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

"What happened?!" Elijah asked worriedly, rushing to the door as Klaus burst into the chamber carrying their sister in his arms. Her head lolled back over Klaus's arm and her blond hair was loose and wild. She groaned as Klaus shifted her and lowered her into a chair close to the fireplace. Sweat covered her forehead and she swallowed roughly, coughing as lightly as she could. Her head throbbed painfully with every movement, and she felt cold all over even though she was sweating profusely.

"She was bitten by a werewolf," Klaus answered firmly, his face drawn as he situated her so she would be comfortable. "I fed her my blood, but it hasn't helped much, if at all."

Rebekah groaned, pressing her face into the curved side of the chair. The fabric of the chair absorbed the sweat on her skin but it beaded back up across her forehead before it could dry. Elijah went to her and sunk down on one knee beside her, rolling his sleeve up to his elbow as he did so. Biting into his wrist, he sat up and pressed his bleeding wrist to her lips.

"I already told you I tried that, and it didn't work," Klaus growled as Rebekah began to drink Elijah's blood.

"Perhaps it wasn't enough. It can't hurt for her to have more," Elijah stated, his tone corrective and aloof. Klaus narrowed his eyes but held his tongue, moving to a nearby chair so he could grip the back of it. The chair whined from the pressure of his strong hands as he watched his sister worriedly while Elijah pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the excess blood from her lips.

Standing, Elijah began unrolling his sleeve as his wrist healed. Watching Rebekah for a moment, he frowned in consternation. Vampires were susceptible to a werewolf's bite, but they were not like other vampires. She would be sick for a few hours to a day, but she would recover. He wasn't worried about her recovery, but rather about why a werewolf was in the castle in the first place.

Turning to look at his younger brother, Elijah's mouth formed a flat line as he frowned in Klaus's direction. "Where did the beast come from?"

He noticed Klaus stiffen at the term - his brother was half-werewolf by birth although that side of him had long been repressed by their mother's magic - but he shrugged his shoulders, his eyes widening in that way they did when he felt helpless. "I don't know," he admitted, shaking his head. There seemed to be more on the tip of his tongue in way of an explanation, but he didn't have a chance to continue.

"I do," Kol interrupted, arriving in a flourish from his chambers. His brown cloak was haphazardly on his shoulders as he tugged it off of his arms and tossed it toward the coat rack, not carrying if it actually landed. Elijah narrowed his eyes at the behavior but waited patiently for his youngest brother to explain himself before he went into a tirade about the proper way to arrange one's coat.

Running his fingers up through his brown hair, ruffling it, his shining eyes glanced between his two brothers before he looked at his sister. "The werewolf is one of the musketeers," Kol announced, not bothering to dance around the topic.

Klaus turned a questioning look on him that Kol returned with his eyes widening sarcastically. "Did you miss the torn musketeers' clothing outside of the queen's wing when you were being the knight in shining armor for Her Majesty?" Kol asked tauntingly.

Anger flashed into Klaus's eyes, and his lower jaw jutted out as he stepped threateningly toward his brother. He didn't get the chance to respond before Kol piped up again, confrontational as always. "What exactly were you doing in the queen's bathing chamber, Nik?" he asked with a brilliant smile that only piqued Klaus's ire further.

Elijah was momentarily reminded of Rebekah's and Kol's comments earlier in the evening at the ball. He'd never imagined Klaus would be undone by a human woman, but his younger siblings were right: Niklaus loved a challenge. And there was no one more unattainable than the queen of France herself.

"I wasn't in the queen's bathing chamber, you foul weasel," Klaus hissed, invading Kol's personal space. Kol merely smiled, his dark eyes lowering into slits as he grinned at his older brother.

"It's easy enough to miss the obvious details when you're busy pacing beneath her window begging for handouts of her virginal beauty," Kol taunted, and Klaus's jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together. "I bet she's magnificent, supple and pure."

Klaus grabbed his shoulders and drove him back into the wall, growling threateningly now as he pinned Kol against the mantle around the fireplace. Elijah moved in the blink of an eye and put his arm between them, grabbing Klaus's neck and surprising him which allowed Kol to extricate himself. Kol stepped away to the side and straightened his clothes as Elijah pushed Klaus back and released him, standing between the two of them.

Holding his hands out to keep both of them at bay, he glowered disapprovingly at the two of them. "I don't care about anyone's intentions. All I care about is this werewolf whom you claim is a Musketeer," Elijah pointed out matter-of-factly as he turned his gaze on Kol. "Why would a Musketeer try to harm the queen?"

Kol shrugged, eyeing Klaus for a moment before stepping over so he could warm his hands by the fire as he leaned weightlessly against the back of Rebekah's chair. "I have no idea, but it was a musketeer. His clothes were torn and in the bushes where he fled after Bekah ran him off." Absently, he reached down and his fingertips brushed the top of his sister's golden crown of hair before he ran them along the back of her chair as if he was subconsciously reassuring himself that she was still there. Her breathing was ragged now, and she sounded as if she'd fallen asleep while they were arguing.

"Why would his clothes be in his getaway instead of where he turned?" Elijah asked suspiciously. That made no sense. That sounded like a planned attack and not an uncontrolled turn with the full moon. A werewolf on the king's personal guard was dangerous enough. A werewolf with a vendetta was a threat to the kingdom as a whole.

Kol shrugged again and turned so he was leaning back on his elbows on the back of Rebekah's chair. "I was just enjoying myself with one of the queen's ladies in the gardens when we happened on the clothes," he commented, smirking mischievously. He obviously wanted them to take note that he was carousing, but both of them ignored him so he continued. "Not long after, the wolf fell from the balcony above, grabbed the clothes in its mouth and limped off into the darkness before I could investigate. I compelled the girl to forget it and came straight here."

"A werewolf cognizant enough to gather its clothing while still in wolf form?" Elijah asked incredulously. He'd seen plenty of werewolves in his lifetime, and none of them had been aware enough to consider their attire. The Turn was an uncontrollable thing, so full of a passion and a wildness that the proper Mikaelson brother didn't experience. It was gauche to him, so primitive and beastly. He may be a vampire, but he certainly wasn't a thoughtless monster. Absently, he straightened the cuff of his sleeves as he glanced from one of his brothers to the other.

Klaus shook his head and frowned in consternation. They considered him the werewolf expert among them since werewolf blood ran in his veins. "There hasn't been a wolf who could control a Turn, that I know of. There must be more to it."

In the moment of silence among them, Rebekah stirred in her chair, distracting them all as they hurried to her side. Her blue eyes flickered open and her lips parted as she drew in a deep breath. With her vision blurry, she was forced to blink several times before she could focus on any of them. Her color was a bit better, but sweat still covered her forehead and face and she was obviously still weak from the bite.

Finding Kol among them, she tilted her chin up to give her voice room to leave her throat. "Kol..." she managed, and he leaned over, balancing with one arm bracing him on the armrest of her chair. Her eyes were bright and feverish, but she was lucid as her brothers watched her.

"Do a favor for your baby sister?" she asked him weakly, and a dark glint sparked in his eyes in response.

"What is it, Bekah?" he asked her as Klaus and Elijah exchanged a knowing look.

Rebekah sat forward in the chair, leaning in to Kol's face as he watched her. "Join the musketeers, find the bastard... and I want you to kill him." Her blue eyes were like ice as she slumped exhaustedly back into her seat and Kol rose to his full height, his smirk now transformed into a wicked grin.

Glancing between his older brothers, Kol straightened the lapels of his dress jacket and winked at them. "As you wish, sister."


	15. Chapter 15

Elijah sat in the morning sunlight streaming in through the window, running his fingers gingerly down the parchment in front of him as his youngest brother finished his breakfast on one of the couches nearby. Rebekah had recovered her strength during the night and she was asleep in her bedroom, leaving Elijah and Kol alone in the great room which connected the siblings' chambers.

"Kol..." Elijah spoke in a sing-song voice without looking up from the scroll he was reading. "Please dispose of your mess once you're done making it." His eyebrows raised as he lifted his gaze and looked at his youngest brother through the tops of his eyes. "And don't stain the carpets," he added with a threatening glint to his eyes and a small grin.

A satisfied sigh left Kol's lips as he retracted his fangs from the neck of the maiden he'd brought in for breakfast. He'd thoroughly drained her, and his entire jaw was coated in her blood. His shirt was ruined, and Elijah sniffed distastefully to himself as he went back to perusing the scroll on the table in front of him.

"I know how to clean up my messes, brother," Kol reminded him, standing and allowing the girl's lifeless body to slump into a pile of satin and lace on the floor. Holding his hands out to his sides, he turned back and forth slightly to show himself off. "How do I look?"

Elijah didn't bother looking up. "Like the plebe you are."

Kol pulled on his initiate's cloak over his bloodied shirt, the sky blue of the Musketeers starkly contrasting with his dark hair and dark eyes. He smiled at Elijah's words and his teeth stood out, brilliantly white against the red covering his chin. "I think it suits me," he commented, tugging on the cloak and pursing his lips as he twirled like a little girl admiring a new dress.

"It won't suit anyone if you ruin it with the leftovers of your most recent breakfast," Elijah pointed out conversationally before glancing over at the lifeless girl on the floor. "Save me the trouble of compelling a maid to clean that up and clean up after yourself for once."

Kol rolled his eyes and feigned a pout, emulating their sister by planting his hands on his hips childishly. "You take the fun out of everything, 'Lijah."

"Like I've said a thousand times," Elijah replied in his nonplussed tone as he lifted his eyebrows and smiled slightly when he caught his younger brother's eye, "You and I have differing ideas on 'fun'."

With a snort, Kol untied the Musketeer cloak from around his shoulders and draped it over a chair before bending over to drag the dead girl off of the floor. Elijah ignored him as he worked, narrowing his eyes over the words etched into the parchment in front of him. It was a log of the family's mercantile business over the past six months, and he always perused them before stowing them for safekeeping. Klaus was the master of the Mikaelson family's trade, but Elijah was their master of coin. Nothing went unnoticed by the eldest Mikaelson brother.

The door across the room opened and Klaus emerged from his bedroom already fully dressed for the day. Lifting his chin, Elijah watched his brother as he sidestepped Kol and headed for the exit. "The sun has only just filled the sky with its light, and you're already prepared to depart?" Elijah commented, feigning nonchalance as he rolled the scroll up tightly and bound it with the red ribbon sealed with an artistic M for Mikaelson.

Klaus looked over at him as he pulled his traveling cloak on around his shoulders and tied it. "I have business for the queen," he stated curtly. That was the tone he used when he was perturbed and felt he didn't have to explain himself. Klaus hated explaining himself, and Elijah knew it. But the eldest brother was still unsure how far he could trust his brother to support their position here. Thusfar, Klaus was following the rules, but how long until he lost control again? How long until another victim, nearly bled dry, stumbled into their chambers with a blood-drunken message from his younger brother?

He couldn't chance that that next victim may be the queen.

He didn't believe Klaus had anything to do with the attack on the woman. He didn't think his brother wanted to do her physical harm. But he couldn't get Rebekah's words entirely out of his mind. It was too easy for him to believe the worst since Klaus rarely proved him wrong.

"I'll come with you," Elijah announced, rising smoothly from his seat and crossing the room to face his brother.

Klaus frowned and narrowed his eyes. "I won't be long."

"Then you won't mind my tagging along," Elijah commended, offering him a smile that communicated he was unwilling to be refused.

Klaus's jaw twitched as he clamped his teeth together before bracing his hand against Elijah's chest, bodily stopping him to keep him at bay. "I'm dealing with sensitive matters for the queen, arranging to ship out her very special package," he explained, his eyes dancing irritably since he was having to explain himself again. He hated justifying his actions. "Unless you intend to trail me all day long to insure I'm behaving myself, then I'll be going."

His voice was sharp and succinct, and he left Elijah behind as he turned and swiftly departed the room. Blinking, Elijah pursed his lips and stood alone for a moment in his brother's wake. He knew Klaus wasn't one to lie, so he believed he was taking care of the queen's former lady-in-waiting as he said he was. Even better: that left the queen available for an audience with Elijah. Surely she wouldn't be too busy to give him a few moments of her time.

Anne's face was composed and her hands were gathered together in front of her as she stood in the sunlight and tilted her head back so the climbing sunlight could warm the underneath of her chin. She looked perfectly calm, standing still and enjoying the sunlight as she was. Only the keenest observer would notice how she gently wrung her fingers across each other, rubbing her index finger and thumb together in a circle on one hand while she gently outlined the backs of her knuckles with the fingers of her other hand. Her nervousness and agitation was bottled up and leaking its way out through her fingertips, seeping from her and leaving her feeling exhausted although she'd gotten some of the best sleep of her life the night before. She hadn't even dreamed. It was almost magical.

But now that she was awake, all she could see were the yellow, glowing eyes of the wolf in her bathing room last night. The vision wracked at her mind, turning her insides into a coiling knot of anxiety. She was too smart to imagine there wasn't something else to what had happened in that room, but she was certain she would get answers. Something nagged at her and reminded her that she would find out soon.

"_Bon matin_, My Lady," came a soothing English accent that she recognized quickly as Elijah Mikaelson. Lowering her chin, she blinked in the bright, morning sunlight and focused on him where he stood several feet away with a pleasant smile on his face and his gloved hands resting gently at his sides. Bowing at his waist, his posture was impeccable - nearly impossible - as he stood to his full height.

Behind him, her ladies - excluding Elijah's sister, Rebekah - plucked flowers from the plants throughout the garden and entertained themselves in various ways. A few of them smiled sweetly at the musketeers who the king always sent to watch over the queen, but most of them ignored Anne and her newly-arrived guest.

Smiling gently at him, Anne clasped her hands tightly together in front of her, mentally forcing her fingers to still in their repetition. She didn't want to give off the air of anxiety, so she called up her trained poise as she nodded slightly in greeting to the Englishman.

"_Bon matin_, Lord Mikaelson. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Elijah smiled and glanced briefly down at the ground before looking back up at her. She'd heard a few of her ladies giggling about him in passing, speaking as girls do about attractive older men. She supposed he was attractive with his defined, clean-shaven jawline and entreating brown eyes. There didn't seem to be a thread out of place with him, from his perfectly quoffed hair down to the laces on his polished shoes. He was every bit the gentleman, but she supposed he was too perfect for her tastes. She could agree that he was appealing to the eye, but there was something about him...

She stopped herself as she realized she had begun comparing him to his younger brother. Mentally chiding herself for her errant thoughts, the irritated look almost crossed her face before she stopped it. Dismissing comparisons of attractiveness, she lifted her chin slightly and met Elijah's eyes as she awaited his answer.

"It is within my responsibilities to inform you that my sister is in bed recovering from... illness," he commented, pausing only a moment before explaining himself. A mixture of terror and an urge to contain the truth about the previous night's events flickered across the queen's eyes, and Elijah smiled calmly. "She will be fine, milady. I-"

He stopped himself and glanced to his side to judge the proximity of her ladies-in-waiting before he looked back at her and took a step closer so they wouldn't be overheard. "Last night..."

"Your brother Niklaus has assured me an explanation is in order," Anne commented suddenly, so certain of herself that it silenced Elijah for a moment. Drawing himself up, his lips set into a straight line, he paused and then nodded once. Realizing how curt she'd been, Anne's lips parted and she drew in a breath before offering Elijah a kind smile.

"Yes, well, Rebekah is sleeping and recovering. She should return to you within the day," he informed her, turning slightly and motioning forward, gesturing to ask if she would like to walk. She complied by turning and walking gracefully along beside him.

"That is good news. Thank you for letting me know," she replied sincerely, lacing her fingers together in front of her as she walked.

They walked for a moment in silence until they reached a turn in the path and Elijah glanced over at her out of the side of his eyes. "I had another matter I wished to broach to you as well, Your Majesty. If it isn't too much trouble?"

She'd suspected as much, but her suspicions didn't show as she smiled slightly and lifted her eyebrows to look at him. "You're not a bother, _monsieur_," she commented simply, her dress rustling at her feet as she walked, the repetitious familiarity of the sound soothing her ears.

"It's about my brother Niklaus," Elijah admitted, and he could swear he felt her tense at his side. But the notion was gone as soon as it came, and he dismissed it before continuing.

Casting his gaze toward her ladies, he rested one hand behind his back and gestured with his free hand toward the young women. "My brother is restless and a bit... free-spirited," he admitted, turning to look at her now. He smiled conspiratorially, and she watched him intently as he continued, her face a carefully composed, emotionless mask.

"I have been thinking perhaps it is time for him to have something more substantial in his life," he conjectured. Anne glanced away from him and out to the garden in front of her. An amused light had risen in her eyes, and the ghost of a smile teased at the corner of her mouth but she hid it well as she looked back at him.

"What is it you are suggesting, milord," she asked, never one to put words in another's mouth. She wanted to hear it straight from him.

Pausing in his steps, he turned to face the queen and she smoothly halted beside him, watching his face as he explained himself.

"I was hoping to arrange a marriage, between Niklaus and one of your ladies," he offered, shifting his weight to look back over at the girls who were ignoring them or distracted by other things. "A wife is a good way to settle a nobleman." He said his last statement pensively, almost as if he was bartering livestock and not a marriage between a man and a woman.

With her eyebrows raised and a slight smile on her face, Anne watched her ladies for a moment. "Marriage certainly does serve to focus a man's passions," she commented, a hint of sardonicism deep within her tone that Elijah caught. Unaware of her plight with her own husband, he looked over at her, innocent to the true depth of meaning beneath her words. She was silent for a long moment, her eyes dancing cunningly as she watched her ladies-in-waiting, deep in thought.

Finally, Anne lifted her chin slightly and looked over at him, offering him her most diplomatic smile. "You make a valid offer, monsieur, but I have a counter proposal which I believe to be much more suitable for us all."

Elijah shifted his weight and turned to watch her, an inquisitive look furrowing his brow. The queen continued, uninterrupted, "While I understand your intentions, I must think first of my ladies. I have promised them protection and good husbands," Anne noted, watching him with her blithe smile. "I don't think Klaus is a suitable match for any of them, but you, on the other hand..."

Surprised, his jaw fell open and he blinked as he realized what the queen was suggesting. "Your Majesty... me? Why, no, I-"

"Of course you," Anne clarified smoothly, smiling (was she amused?) as she glanced from his face toward her ladies. "You are the eldest brother, after all. You're handsome and eligible and noble. You would make a fine match."

Dumbfounded by this turn, this wrench in his plan, he fought through his initial shock to find a way back. This wasn't his intention. It was Klaus who was supposed to be paired with one of these girls, married off to settle him for a few decades until the girl inevitably died. Perhaps marriage would be the thing which finally calmed his hot-headed brother down.

But his theory didn't have the opportunity to come to fruition if it backfired in this way.

"While I'm honored by your glowing compliments, milady, I couldn't..." he began, offering her a genteel smile.

Anne scoffed delicately and fixed him with a look, "Don't be silly!" She sounded almost as if she was teasing him, but he couldn't quite be sure. She typically seemed rather serious and sweet, and he hadn't spent enough time around her to tell if she was jesting or not.

"As the eldest Mikaelson brother, you are the most desirable match for any young lady looking for a husband," she pointed out. Elijah shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, breathing out hard through his nose.

"I am too old to be married, my queen," Elijah countered, attempting to fend off her efforts. "Niklaus, on the other hand..."

"You can't be older than thirty. That's plenty young for a man to be married. With your family's fortune and status, age means nothing. Age means so little for a man anyway," she reminded him, straightening her back and clasping her hands over her waist.

Shaking his head, Elijah opened his mouth to politely argue, intending to reiterate why Klaus would make the best match. This wasn't about him at all, this was about keeping Niklaus in his place. He didn't expect his brother to fall in love with a human girl, but at least the pretense of human normalcy may keep him from acting out. It was a far-fetched notion, but one Elijah considered to be rather brilliant. However, the queen was causing it all to backfire by refusing him.

"Your Majesty, really, I do think my brother would be-"

Anne held her hand up to stop him, offering him a smile that barely veiled her resoluteness in the matter. He could see the decision had already been made by the way her light eyes hardened even as she smiled.

"My offer has been made, _Monsieur _Elijah. Do consider," she pronounced, dipping her head at him to politely indicate he could excuse himself.

"_Oui_, My Lady," he acquiesced, bowing at his waist before turning and hastily leaving the gardens. He wasn't one to panic, and he didn't now, but he wondered how his seemingly-brilliant plan had backfired in his face. How had Klaus gotten his way when he wasn't even here to defend himself? Shock laid over him like a wet blanket as Elijah made his path back toward his family's chambers in the palace. He'd approached the queen intent on controlling his brother through a union he knew Klaus would hate, but it would be for his own good. And now he was leaving: the only option being his own union instead. He almost laughed out loud at the irony.


	16. Chapter 16

The queen was standing alone as he entered the garden, easily skirting her ladies-in-waiting as they giggled to themselves. They were fools, and he spent most of his time ignoring them or pretending they didn't actually exist. His footsteps were sure and filled with purpose, his arms swinging relaxedly at his sides as he approached the queen. The musketeers watched him warily, and he smiled slightly to himself as they eyed him. If he wanted to harm her, he could do so with ease and not a one of them would be able to stop him. He'd snap their necks with the flick of his wrist.

As if a shadow materialized out of her corner of her eye, Anne realized he had arrived before she turned fully to look at him. Her fanned collar hid half of her face as she cut her eyes toward him before turning to reveal her flushed cheeks and light blue eyes. "Monsieur Niklaus," she greeted him as he halted a few feet from her and watched her with his intense gaze. Even the small smile on his lips didn't alleviate the taut feeling in the air as if it was stretched too thin around him.

"Your Majesty," he returned the greeting, bowing slightly at his waist as he didn't break their gaze. "Your shipment has departed the country, on its way to Spain."

Her chin lifted slightly and her shoulders relaxed visibly as she drew in a deep breath. It was as if a huge weight had lifted from her shoulders, and relief shone in her light eyes. "Thank you, Niklaus," she replied, the familiarity of his name intermingling with her sincerity as she offered him a small smile of her own. Their gazes were locked, and she felt for a moment that she couldn't look away. Perhaps she didn't wish to look away. He'd saved her life only the night before, and he continued to bewilder her.

Boldly, Klaus held her gaze, unafraid of her station and unconcerned with rules of etiquette. He once again found himself curiously intrigued by her humanity and her indomitable will. The woman had just been attacked in her own bedchambers last night, but she stood before him nonplussed. He could smell the faint twinge of anxiety in the air around her, and he could hear her heart beating rapidly, but none of it showed on her face.

Glancing hastily away from him, she cleared her throat and pursed her lips for a moment as she focused across the gardens. Gathering herself, her eyes cleared before she turned back to look at him, the momentary spell between them broken.

"I believe you have something else to tell me as well," she stated succinctly, her tone heavily laden with the thickness of subtlety. Her eyebrows raised slightly as she pursed her lips again, her mouth forming an almost-perfect heart as she watched him. Parting his lips, Klaus glanced away for a moment, shifting his weight and sighing audibly.

"Unless you are a liar and don't intend to tell me what that... creature in my bathing room was last night," she added, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

An angry light glinted in his eyes as he looked back at her. He didn't like being questioned, and he didn't appreciate being accused of lying. "I am no liar, Your Majesty," he stressed her title with a hint of repugnance that she caught immediately.

"Very well," she acquiesced, turning her body so she could more easily see him. She watched his face, watching for the tell-tale signs of lying she knew so well. "I know that was no ordinary wolf. What was that beast?"

He tensed visibly at the word, and Anne puzzled over his reaction but couldn't inquire further before the look was gone from his face. "I'm sure you've heard stories of the _loup garou_..." He trailed off, offering her the opportunity to respond.

Frowning slightly as she looked at him, Anne shook her head gently. "I have heard the foolish myths and legends superstitious parents tell their children to keep them from going into the woods alone at night, yes. But those are just stories." She gave him a mildly scornful look as he raised his eyebrows and smiled amusedly.

"Every story has a genesis," he noted simply.

Disdain rose in her eyes followed by disbelief. What a ridiculous notion: werewolves. They were fool's tales. She'd never believed them ever since she was a child.

"A man cannot turn into a wolf and vice versa. Are you trying to tell me that a werewolf attacked me in my bath last night?" she accused him, still unconvinced.

A dark light glinted in his eyes but he didn't stop smirking irascibly at her. Taking a step forward, Klaus closed the space between them, catching Anne's attention as he invaded her personal space yet again. Her breath caught quietly in her throat, and she swallowed imperceptibly as she lifted her chin so she could look him in the eye. He was so intense, he sucked the light out of the air around her. He seemed not only to consume the space before her, but the very air around her, like a storm cloud silently surrounding her and squandering the oxygen.

"I am not trying to tell you," he noted, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side as he watched her, "I am telling you: a werewolf tried to kill you in your chambers last night."

Distantly, she thought she felt the brush of his fingertips against her throat, and she frowned slightly but she couldn't look away from him again. Just as soon as she felt the sensation, it was gone, and she blinked, details from the night before rushing into her mind.

The yellow eyes... the intelligent look in the animal's face... the way it hunted her...

She'd known, without believing, that the wolf was no ordinary animal. It wasn't a dumb beast that had somehow accidentally wandered into her room. The creature possessed a purpose, and it would have killed her if Klaus and Rebekah hadn't intervened. She remembered it all now as if a switch had been flicked on within her brain, and in essence, it had. Without her realizing he was doing it, Klaus released the compulsion on her mind, allowing her to access the details from her near-death experience.

Anne shook her head, dumbfounded, as she stepped back from him and clasped her hand against her stomach. She knew he was right: all of the stories and lies she'd heard since she was a child weren't lies at all. Somehow, amidst all of the insanity already existing in her world, men who could turn into wolves actually existed.

As she looked astoundedly at him, Klaus crossed his arms over his chest and fixed her with a patronizingly knowing look.

"How... did a... werewolf get into my chambers? It couldn't have simply wandered in," she noted, her voice hardening as she attempted to reconcile her disbelief with the truth he'd given her. Looking up at Klaus, she shook her head again, "A wolf couldn't have just walked past the Musketeers and into my rooms."

He sighed, glancing down at his foot as he kicked at the ground with his toe. "The werewolf is among the Musketeers," he revealed flatly.

Anne frowned again, this time more adamantly than before. "That's even more ridiculous than the notion that werewolves exist. The king's Musketeers are avowed to protect my life as they are sworn to protect the king's. A Musketeer would never make an attempt against my life."

Disgruntled by their growing debate and her refusal to accept the facts he was giving her without asking questions, Klaus released an aggravated breath. "Perhaps one of them grew so tired of your characteristic quibbling that he decided to do you in himself," he suggested, receiving a hot glare from her in return.

"A Musketeer would never try to kill me," she repeated confidently, her blue eyes flashing.

"Well, a Musketeer did try to kill you," Klaus argued, squaring off with her as she glared up at him. "Are you so adamant in hating me that you won't believe the truth when I tell it? Kol found the tunic; he saw the wolf escaping your rooms. Perhaps hearing it from someone else's tongue would more easily convince you." He spat the words accusingly at her, and she didn't back down. She kept her irritation well-maintained, unlike him, but her jaw set and he could see the defiance simmering in her eyes.

"I don't hate you," she admitted in a strained tone, her brows drawing together slightly. "You haven't lied to me yet, but there must be another explanation. The Musketeers would never do such a thing, not willingly. I can't believe the men whose lives are sworn to protect us would ever try to kill us."

There was a moment of silence between them as Klaus didn't offer up any further comments. He was already perturbed by the talk of werewolves, as he always was. The topic put him on edge and constantly reminded him of the part of him that was missing. He'd been born a werewolf, and he'd been searching for hundreds of years for a way to break the curse his mother had placed on him. He was still sore over Katerina's escape not even 150 years prior. The thought made him clench his teeth and turn away from the queen so she couldn't see the anger flood over his face, accompanied by the burning of the veins around his eyes.

"Is that all?" Anne asked after a long moment of silence between them. Her voice broke through his inner turmoil long enough to bring him back to the present, and he half-turned his face so he could see her out of the corner of his eye. He didn't reply immediately, so she filled the silence.

"Werewolves... is that all there is out there?" she asked him, her voice taken on a timid tone as she watched him entreatingly.

He turned slowly and looked at her, his body turned sideways as he examined her face. She no longer looked angry, only genuinely inquisitive. He wasn't a liar, that much was true, but he also didn't intend to surrender his family's secret to her.

"Werewolves are all I can tell you about," he admitted in a quiet tone. Subverting the truth wasn't exactly lying.

Anne relaxed slightly and nodded her head, summoning a grateful smile and a small exhalation of breath. "Thank you... for telling me the truth as you promised you would," she told him, folding her hands in front of her as she watched him. A business-like air settled over her, putting space between them again.

Shifting her weight, she moved to leave but paused to look back at him with a sly glint in her eyes he imagined few had seen from their queen. Her lips parted as if she was about to speak, but she hesitated and drew a shallow breath instead before looking up at him out of the sides of her eyes. "Good day, Lord Niklaus." With that, she gracefully moved off across the garden to rejoin her ladies, leaving him wondering what she'd been about to say before she stopped herself.


	17. Chapter 17

Musing silently to himself, Klaus walked pensively back to his family's suite. Lost in thought, he entered the main living chamber without noticing anyone else in the room. He had no mortal fears outside of Mikael, so he remained lost in his daydreams. Anne had made it known that she held a distaste for his company, but her sly grin at him in the garden suggested otherwise. She was certainly a perplexing woman. He had moments where he wanted to crack open her mind and unspool her thoughts so he could read them. Unfortunately, however convenient the idea seemed, it would betray his intentions to brazenly murder her. The hunt for information was always more fun.

He didn't realize he wasn't alone in the chamber until he turned from hanging his coat on the wall and saw Rebekah's outline against the window on the other side of the room. Her golden hair was scooped up and piled in perfectly-done curls as she stood watching out of the window. She seemed almost to glow with some otherworldly radiance, as always, and she wore her divine beauty as a serene mask while she stood perfectly still beside the glass.

"Was it your intention to start a scandal about yourself and Queen Anne, or was that merely a happy coincidence?" she asked him, her smooth voice breaking through the silence of the room as she turned to look at him. A dark, mischievous light glinted in her eyes as she lowered her chin slightly and looked at her older brother.

He fixed her with a derisive look as he sauntered to the center of the room. "What are you blathering on about?" Reaching the drink table, he smoothly poured himself a glass of brandy and purposefully ignored her. Being ignored always aggravated her, and he prided himself on getting under her skin.

Sure enough, her suave act dropped as Klaus paid more attention to his glass than to her, and Rebekah turned to face him fully. "Don't play coy with me," she accused him, leaning forward confrontationally. "Do you honestly think no one will talk about the fact that a man who was not the king got close enough to Anne that he could kiss her if he wanted? Gossip will be flying through these halls like buzzards to a decaying corpse."

Klaus snorted and smiled, taking another sip of his drink. Of course, he cared nothing for gossip, and he couldn't care less what a bunch of insipid humans said about him. Turning to look at his sister, Klaus smiled brilliantly and motioned his glass toward her in silent cheers. "If the mouth-breathing mortals need something interesting to talk about, then so be it. Feel free to join them, Rebekah. You seem hungry to do so," he prodded her, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips for a moment before taking another swig from the glass in his hand.

A hard breath snorted out through her nose, and she momentarily allowed his jab to aggravate her. However, just as soon as it came, the sensation was replaced by a cunning look in her eye that made Klaus narrow his eyes.

"I wonder what Elijah will think," she mused thoughtfully, lacing her hands in front of her and cocking her head to the side. Klaus lowered his glass and watched her, his jaw set as she continued.

"A brother in a scandal with the queen... How improper." For a moment, he thought she'd sardonically batted her eyelashes at him, but he couldn't be sure as he began fuming.

"I don't think Elijah should be bothered with your ridiculous little games, Rebekah," he spoke in a low tone as she continued smirking at him.

"Fine," she acquiesced, stepping toward him and closing the space in the room. Lifting her chin, she looked him straight in the eye, her cunning look lingering. "Since Elijah seems otherwise preoccupied, I'm willing to make you a deal, Nik."

A derisory look filled his face as he looked down at her. "I don't need to make any deals with you, Bekah," he informed her, leaning down slightly in a subconscious attempt to make her uncomfortable. But she was never uncomfortable in his space, so she didn't back down.

"Perhaps you don't care, but every noble in this palace and the grounds beyond will be gossiping about your inability to maintain personal space boundaries, before nightfall. I could see it from up here," she informed him, jutting out her chin and taking a step forward so they were almost nose-to-nose glaring at one another. "People will talk, gossip will spread, and when gossip spreads, what do you think will happen? How well do you imagine we can remain hidden from Mikael then?"

He ground his teeth together and his nostrils flared like an angry bull, but Rebekah benignly smiled up at him. "Of course, it's easy enough to kill a rumor, but you've never been adept at allaying people's thoughts of you."

"That's because I don't care what people think of me," Klaus retorted, squeezing his glass so hard he could hear the glass straining against his grip and he forced himself to relax.

"Yes, but Elijah does. He's like a moral hawk circling over our heads, always trying to keep us in line, trying to help us fit in. Rumors about you and the queen certainly don't help us blend in," Rebekah pointed out, pursing her lips.

Frustrated and aggravated, Klaus breathed out heavily through his nose and shifted his weight, glancing briefly up at the ceiling before glaring at her. It was true - he didn't care about the gossip - but he also knew Rebekah was right. She was on the cusp of society; she desired it almost as much as she craved blood. He could also see events playing out the way she imagined: gossip turning to rumors and spreading to Mikael's waiting ears. If there was anything he feared in the world, it was Mikael's lust for filicide.

If Anne was any woman other than the queen, there wouldn't be an inkling of worry within him. Rumors about other women were quashed as easily as the issue he'd dealt with earlier that day. Put a pregnant lady-in-waiting on a ship, and the problem was solved. But gossip about the queen was far juicier, and idiots could build gossip from even the smallest things. Rumors could spread quicker than the plague.

"Are you resolving to a point, sister?" he asked her, looking back down at her, heat simmering in his eyes.

Rebekah smiled precociously up at him, that coy glint reappearing in her gaze. "I can squash a rumor for you easy enough," she pointed out, swinging her hips slightly as if she were thoroughly enjoying herself in her little game. "But I want you to do something for me as payment." He frowned slightly, unsure what she meant.

"You challenged me to manipulate the king - which really isn't much of a challenge at all, and I believe you're at an unfair disadvantage here - so I propose another challenge. You must similarly woo the queen."

His blue eyes widened slightly before he fixed his sister with a suspicious look. "The queen doesn't even like me. I'll just compel her, and I'll be the victor."

"Tsk tsk tsk," Rebekah chided him, wagging her finger in front of his face and pursing her lips. "No compulsion. Anne must genuinely succumb to whatever charm you may possess."

"So what do you expect me to do? Bed the queen?" he asked her sardonically, scoffing in her face. He didn't tell her his interest had been piqued. He didn't admit he'd already thought about it. He easily could have compelled the human queen to do as he wished: to allow him to have his pleasure with her. But Anne posed a challenge for him by disliking him, not to mention the fact that he prided himself on never having to coerce a woman into his bed. No, however simple it may be, that wasn't his style.

Rebekah raised her eyebrows. "You suggest it as if you've already thought it," she pointed out teasingly.

His nostrils flared and his lips pressed together into a thin line, but she interrupted him before he could snap at her. "No, you don't have to bed her unless you just want to," Rebekah informed him nonchalantly. "It's as simple as this: she must willingly allow you to feed on her. No compulsion... no tricks... You feed on the queen, and you win."

Klaus drew up his chin and looked at his sister down his nose, a pompous smirk curving up the side of his mouth. "Very well, then your challenge has changed as well."

Rebekah lifted her eyebrows in a questioning look, drawing back from him slightly as he leaned toward her combatively. "Making the king fall for you requires no effort since he clearly chases any tail that wags in front of his face," Klaus pointed out, shaking his head. "No, dear sister, that's too easy. You must curry favor with the king and drink his blood. Whichever of us is the first to taste royal blood is the victor."

There was a moment of silence as Rebekah's eyelids lowered and she considered the new stakes. It didn't take long before she nodded curtly and looked him in the eye. "Very well, Nik. We have ourselves a challenge."


End file.
